Let me Go
by MaverickPaxAPunch
Summary: Falling is easy, but the ground is always below. Esme wishes that she could fly away from the life of abuse and injustice married to her husband Charles, who is spiraling out of control. Secretly, thoughts sneak into her clouded mind of the mysterious doctor who left town years ago, nearly disappearing into thin air. Flying is easy, it's the falling that scares her. Please review!
1. Prologue

Prologue

Falling is easy. When your feet leave the ground, you feel like you can fly – you soar in the air like the angel you were meant to be. Falling is easy, but it's the part when you realize you're bound to hit the bottom that is hard. You realize everything that you're taking away from yourself. You realize you're going to die.


	2. Mindless

**Hello! Just thought that I should clear up that I don't own any of these characters besides the ones that I think of myself. Please enjoy, and review at the end if you do! Thank you!**

One: Mindless

"What did I tell you about writing those fool stories, lying around all day! What did I _tell_ you, you stupid girl!" Charles yelled, holding his large fist over my head. I backed away against the wall, holding my small hands over my face for what little protection I had. Thinking as quickly as I could, I grabbed the book off the shelf against the wall, shielding my face. He laughed a gruel laugh and pushed my shoulders against the wall. My back arched with fear, and instead of it hitting the wall, my shoulder blades caught me.

"Charles, please, we can let this go –" I started, but he rattled my entire frame before I could speak again. All I saw in his eyes was pure rage. I was surprised that his eyes weren't fully red.

"How many times do I gotta tell you, you're never going to be _anybody! You're no one!_ You cook, and you clean for me, do you got it? You _listen_ to _me._ You will _serve ME._ You will play your role, and nothing more!" he grabbed me by the throat, holding me against the wall again. His hand constricted around my airway, ceasing my ease of breathing for a second. I panicked, gasping to try and inhale desperately, but no air came. I tried to speak his name, as if he were some higher source, a king in a robe and diadem, if he would just let me _breathe._ I would do anything he asked if he let me breathe again. I was beginning to forget what air tasted like. How _did_ one breathe? Was breathing really that easy?

I gasped as he dropped me back down onto the floor, feeling the air hiss into my lungs, sweet, sweet air that I would never take for granted again. I heaved on the floor for a few more moments before he grabbed my arm again, picking me up with one of his strong arms.

"You listen to me, girl, you will _not_ sit around writing those damn stories all day when there's work to be done. Or next time, you might not breathe again in time. I let you off nice this once." He shoved me against the bookshelf. A few books toppled out of it onto me, along with the vase that always sat atop it, breaking in shards on the wood floor. I shielded my face for protection, and thankfully no glass injured me. I finally conjured up the strength to lift my head up to see his face.

I suddenly was seeing stars, my head upon the floor again. I knew this feeling. This feeling of my head spinning around and around, like a classroom globe .Like when a child would spin it so quickly that it was a blur of continents on the sphere, and the latitude and longitude lines were all just a fermented grid.

"Don't. Look. At. Me." he growled and turned so his back was all my ascending vision could see. "I'm going out."

All I could manage to do was blink and try to make out the slamming door as he stomped down the steps outside. I could hear him trudging farther off of the gravel walkway. Maybe he wouldn't come back. At least for a day or so, it happened before, and I had enough time to pull myself back together. To conceal the bruises on my face and arms, make myself look presentable while he drank himself silly.

I realized a few stray tears leaked down my cheeks. Lifting my hand to my face, I felt the tingling spot where his large hand had come into contact. I then checked my throat. His hands still felt like they were there, suffocating my trachea like a bubble desperately trying to make it to the surface. It popped just in time.

Now, this moment, I wished to gather my things up and run away. To escape all of this. The constant torture, the beatings, the anger. The evil. Charles actually used to be quite nice; he was even a gentleman at times. He held the door for me, I'd hang up his coat, and he would even set the table. When he'd asked me my hand in marriage, I had accepted, believing that though I barely knew him, we would in time grow into love. How wrong I was… everybody would scoff and talk about me – I was getting a little old for marriage, and the remarks were getting less and less subtle. My parents and sister would just flat out tell me that I was too old, and needed to settle down with a husband. Blushing was something I did often whenever they brought the subject up; it was a touchy thing. My mother's sour looks were the worst when she spoke of my lack of husband. She constantly told me that I didn't need to be in love to marry, and that learning to love was a good skill to learn. I knew that I should already be married by then, but I wanted to move West to become a teacher. Of course, my parents wouldn't allow it. They always said I should be perfectly fine and content living here. But I wasn't, entirely.

Marrying Charles Evenson was no more than a task at hand, so my parents would approve of me, so I could make something of myself. I never was quite like the other girls. While they were off fawning over boys they were eligible to marry, I was climbing trees and eating apples, drawing and talking to myself. Never did I have a true friend. Some of them came and went, but they married much before me, and were whisked away with thoughts of love, and children. I was never the type of girl to imagine what my wedding would look like someday. I didn't even think about marriage – I much more enjoyed running with my brother nonstop, being myself. But occasionally, my mother would shove me into a corset and fluffy skirt, usually for a holiday, and I'd find myself imagining what it would be like to be one of "them", just for a little while. Upon my imaginings, I'd usually be taking the bows out of my red hair. Because I was youngest, Mother always thought that I just looked darling in braids with bows tied at the ends. I was always the one to disagree. Bows get you a lot of cheek pinching, and "oh, how darling!'s", and I never liked it. I was about seven before she stopped trying to lasso me with the bows, and yes, my hair was red up until I was about sixteen. It lightened up a lot, and so did my freckles. My grandmother always used to tell me that I better pray that it lighten up as I got older, because no man would want such a red-haired, freckle-faced dimwit. My grandmother was never the nicest person.

I curled in a ball on the floor and pondered the thought that it didn't have to be this way. Right then, as I laid on the floor curled up, I imagined how horrible it would be to still be a young maid now. There weren't that many downsides.

Cold was seeping into the room like frost on a winter's morn, and I lifted my hand to my watering eyes to inspect the tips that had turned a frozen red color. I was still only in my underclothes, just as I was when Charles pulled me from the bedroom. I was redressing, because I'd smeared flour all over my apron. It was an attempt to try and be a good wife to him; the cookies had turned out fine, but for some reason, I always managed to spill half a bag of flour on myself. I'd gone up to change when he charged into the room and grabbed me by the wrist. His face was filled with pure anger and hate, and I gasped as he pulled me down the hallway, shoving my halfway down the stairs. I vaguely remembered my limbs twisting up from under me, and I'd fallen down to the first landing, hitting my face on the banister. I looked up to see his hot, fuming face, the vein emerging from his neck.

"What did I tell you about writing this – this garbage!" he exclaimed, shoving my cluttered papers in my face. My etchy handwriting, I could make out from where I was struggling to stand up, trying to cover myself up in front of him. It was my journal, he had ripped the pages out of the spine with his huge, forceful hands. It made me want to cry, all of my work crinkled up in his hand. He ripped one random page up and held it above his head to read it.

"Charles, please… give it back… please!" I begged and jumped for it desperately like a child. He still played keep-away, holding it where I could never reach on my own. I would do anything for him not to read my work. Partly because it was private, and because – because he just couldn't take things from me. I hated it when he always took away my belongings. My paintbrushes that were a gift from my brother, the money I'd received from him as well. It seemed that Charles took almost everything that belonged to me.

"How many times have I told you, wife… you do the cooking, cleaning, and we share the bed, you do nothing else!" He then proceeded to open the front of the fire stove, shoving the crinkled pages in to dilapidate in the licking, hot flames.

"No!" I cried, trying to reach for them like I could somehow save them. He shoved me back, and that was eventually how I ended up on the floor. Helpless and throbbing, like I often was. I never seemed to do anything right. I burned his dinners, I hung his clothes out for too long, and they became rough. Or they weren't out long enough and they were slightly damp. I didn't dust well enough. The picture on the wall was crooked, and of course it was my fault.

I'm not saying I was faultless. Charles used to be quite nice to me. But when I ever imagined getting married, when the slight idea even popped into my head as a child, I always wished my husband would call me something nice, like darling, or dear. Never once had he called me anything other than Esme; occasionally, he would call me 'wife', or something along the lines of 'wench'. I tried to call him nice things, but he always blew it off and sometimes snorted, saying something like 'save it for the bed, Esme.' His abuse wasn't always verbal, it turned physical. It didn't always use to be that way; Charles was sweet to me in public, or when we first were married. He brought me home the graceful black and white cat as a wedding present, and when we were in public, he often held my hand to lead me. But he was always in control. That was what started off the abusing. His constant need to feel like a king; that I should serve to his every need and see him as the highest possible creature in my life. When I did not, or refused to do what he said, I was beaten.

I said nothing to the people around me for a while – it was too difficult to explain, so I tried to hide the bruises the best I could. I wore long sleeves, making an attempt to hide the marks, and I didn't make an appearance in public when I had bruises on my face. Many would talk about me, how I was so antisocial sometimes. What they didn't understand was that I was trying to give Charles another chance time and time again. Once my sister discovered a bruise on my arm, and then fully inspected me from head to toe and found many more, I had to tell the truth. Of course, then my mother found out, and I had to tell her too.

She encouraged me to keep quiet about the beating and cruelness. I couldn't believe it for a moment, believing that I heard her words wrong. But then she continued to go on about how a little beating isn't bad for you, and maybe I was the problem. On the verge of tears that my own mother didn't listen to me, she finished off by telling me that I should keep quiet and be a good wife. Hadn't I been _trying_ to be a good wife? Hadn't I cooked his meals, did his laundry, gave him everything he wanted!

The cat he had given me suddenly nosed under my arm, curling itself up to my side. Barely moving as tears streamed down my cheeks, I sobbed into its fur, hugging him to my body. He was the only thing I had. I had no friends. My brother was gone, moved away, and even he told me to try and see the good in him. All of my old friends were married with children now, barely wanting anything to do with me. My mother and sister were more interested in their own lives, much too invested. All I had was this little cat, and an invective husband that was probably off drinking himself sick.

Scooping the cat up weakly as I finally dragged myself up, I carried him to the bedroom where I barely slept, carefully setting him on the bed. He shook out, shaking his thin body side to side as I pulled on my gown. Hopefully Charles wouldn't be back soon. The cat curled up on my pillow, as near to me as possible as I pulled the covers up, praying for dreamless sleep.

**Soooo? What did you think? I know that this chapter is sort of short, but it was just sort of the starter chapter… her thoughts of Carlisle are going to come in later, I promise… please review if you liked… please do if you didn't, any feedback it good for me! I can see what I can do better… oh, and I was trying to decide if I should name Esme's baby or not, eventually, so if you have a good name, and you want me to use it, puuhleeese put it in the review! Thank you! More will be coming soon!**


	3. Ambuscaded

Two: Ambuscaded

The dream was in exquisite detail; I could see everything so perfectly, so certainly, so _distinctly,_ that I didn't even remember I was asleep. He was there. The man from so many years ago, which seemed like so few because of the clarity. I felt like I'd been staring at him straight for hours he looked so perceptively; like we recognized each other.

In vivid detail, he crossed the room, and I was nearly oblivious to everything in it but him. He was tall, and so pale that it looked like light might shine off of his skin. His long slender figure simulated a lion, and his blond hair was so perfect that it had bear resemblance to the exact color of the sun's rays just before sunset. I watched silently as he gracefully strode nearer and nearer to me, his large pallid hands at his sides, barely moving with his stride. The look on his face was twisted into one of disgrace, and his long fingers curled into soft curves, not a dimple or flaw in the knuckles.

I stared at him, expectantly waiting for him to say the first words before I realized; I didn't remember what his voice sounded like. One of his golden eyebrows raised slightly and his fingers twitched as he anticipated my first move. Staring into his halcyon eyes, I searched through the cavernous spaces of my memory to recall his voice. He had said a few kind words to me when we met. What were they? What had he said? It was nearly seven years ago!

"Hello, how are you feeling?" he suddenly asked, and my dream-self jumped, startled by his gilded tone. The first words I remembered him saying to me. The man tilted his head to the side, his eye lashes fanning out slightly on his slender cheekbones as he casted his eyes down to me. He was so tall. So perfect.

"I'm alright." I answered in a shaking voice. My hands were quivering as well, I suddenly noticed, quaking like miniature earthquakes.

"You're shaking." He said, and I almost missed it – I was too invested in his expression. It was so deep, so opaque and unreadable that I simply could not keep my eyes off of it. "Are you sure?"

My heart palpitated as he wrapped his fingers around my wrist, letting out my breath in one gasp. In the forgotten subconscious of my mind, I remembered how cold his hands had been, but also how much I knew it was probably improper to want him to continue touching me. I wanted to pull away from his soft grip, but he pulled my arm towards him by my wrist. My sleeve fell down to reveal a line of greenish-yellow bruises left by Charles' fingers, almost like they were indented there. His face turned a distressed sort of expression.

"You fell out of a tree?" he asked innocently, his purr-like voice a soft drawl. I almost laughed. The only time we had met, I'd fallen down out of one of the biggest trees on our property, and he'd been the doctor to treat me. I struggled to remember his name… doctor… doctor something. Dr. Cullen.

"No, sir." I replied softly as his eyes started to worship the bruises on my arms. His name! Oh, no, I remembered. I'd _never _learned his first name. He may have mentioned it, but I had become too intrigued in his eyes! They were a honey colored, the strangest eyes I'd ever seen. Not the thatch color that some people had that resembled gold in direct light, his were a sparkling, dazzling real gold. I'd never seen such a color, and maybe that was why they stuck in my mind. Plenty of men had sparkly eyes, but his were just so handsome and impressive.

"Have you fallen, Miss Platt?"

I looked down at my feet. I hated to use my new name. "Evenson. Mrs. Evenson."

His expression became bewildered. "Walk with me, Esme."

My _name._ He remembered my _name, _even if he was dream Dr. Cullen, in the subconscious of my mind. He offered me his arm and I took it willingly, wrapping mine up around him in a vice grip. I barely felt I could walk a straight line in his presence, so I leaned against him a little bit, as much as I thought I could without him noticing. He didn't seem to mind.

Where were we? Did I know where we were? The surroundings seemed so foreign and unfamiliar to me. We were in a small room, about the size of my bedroom from when I was a child. In fact, I think it _was_ the bedroom from my childhood. Yet there was no furniture, no drapes or curtains, it was a hallowed out shell of a room. As the mesmerizingly handsome doctor led me through the doorway and down the small flight of stairs, I noticed that the rest of the house was the same way, an empty shell. The wind howled through it eerily, but it had always done that in the fall. When he led me outside, I could confirm that it was, in fact, the autumn months, particularly the early ones because beautiful red, yellow, orange, and burgundy leaves were fluttering in the breeze.

As we walked at a never-ceasing pace, his head never moved, it faced forward. Like he knew exactly our destination, and he wasn't going to stop until we reached it. It was so strange, yet so impressive, as his steps failed to sway his shoulders. Like the top of his body was unmoving, even the fingers that rested on my forearm. His eyelids even scarcely moved to blink, his long light lashes barely brushing against his masculine cheekbones.

"Come, Esme. This way." He spoke finally, his voice an ancient hum. I obeyed as he walked me down the familiar lane that I knew. I'd romped and played with my brother on this very property for years. It brought back memories of being twelve again, when nobody minded if I climbed trees, ate apples, got myself dirty. I did the only things I knew, I copied my older brother, Elmer. We raced, we climbed bales of hay, rode horses. I wasn't expected to polish silver, iron clothes, wear frilly dresses and have no other thought than staying clean.

The lane curved, just as I remembered, and he led me to the edge of a field of swaying tall grasses. I had years of memories of running around here with my siblings, and sometimes my friends if I had any at the time. Dr. Cullen still kept his face forward as he strode to the large tree that I remembered so well. It was one of the biggest on our property, the exact one that I'd fallen out of when I was sixteen, "much too old to be climbing trees". I was too frightened to speak because we had both been so quiet for such a long time, but he sat on the ground against the rough, ancient bark of the tree, still holding onto my hand as he lowered himself gracefully.

"Aren't you going to sit down?" he cocked his head and tugged on my fingers slightly. I reluctantly sat beside him, leaning my shoulders against the cragged old bark. I tucked my legs under me like a swan, smoothing my hands over my legs. I was dressed in the prettiest dress that came to my mind. One that crossed over my shoulder blades with navy blue fabric, and over my torso and over my chest in a v. It was the dress my mother and father had given to me as a wedding gift. I'd never found such an excuse to wear it, but now, in his presence, I thought that it looked so ordinary and plain. His collar was white as was his shirt, and was buttoned up all the way to the top. He wasn't in the doctor's clothes I remembered him in; instead, he wore a brown tweed suit with patches on the sleeves where his elbows were.

I closed my eyes for a slight moment as he gently swept his fingers across my cheek where the new bruise was forming from Charles. I hadn't had time to hide it, and certainly not in a dream. But this felt so real. His tender touch against my cheek where it was pulsating with pain, his cool fingers seemingly calming the throbbing. His presence alone made me feel less trapped. He proceeded to stroke his lurid fingers down my cheek, then to my chin at an angle. They were so soft, so – so just what I wanted. He curled his fingers slightly and cupped under my chin, propping it up higher as if to further examine the bruise on my cheek.

"Oh, what have you done…" he shook his head slightly side to side, letting my chin down. I looked into my lap. There was such a look of sorrow on his face. Like he genuinely cared for me, and not just because he was a doctor. He wanted to hear what I had to say. He wasn't going to hurt me.

"Sir, I'm afraid it's – hard to explain." I whispered, maybe not even loud enough for him to hear, and my voice cracked. A few tears slid down my slightly freckled cheeks into my lap. Unfortunately, I was utterly average looking, especially in his presence. My complexion was average, with brown freckles across the bridge of my nose and cheeks, my eyes were an average brown, not even chocolate colored, but mud colored. My hair, though it had been redder when I was a child, had turned to a plain orange-brown, almost a mousy color. Where I lacked in beauty, I also lacked in my curves, and my voice was anything but a purr. I could barely look at the beautiful man; he was so much like an angel, and I was so utterly average, possibly even ugly.

"Please, don't make yourself cry." His hand slipped onto my shoulder gently, _comfortingly._ I'd not been comforted in years. "We have time. We're alone."

I looked around. We _were_ alone. So I tipped my head back up and looked straight into his eyes. The two golden orbs of kindness, angelicness, perfectness. I told him of everything, then. About how I'd been pushed into marriage a few years after I'd broken my leg and met him, because I could barely look at another man without comparing his beauty to his own. I told him of how selfish it was, and I knew that, but he listened contently, never interrupting. I told him of how I was last to marry out of my friends, if I could even call them that anymore, and was pushed into marrying Charles Evenson because he was one of the last eligible men. I told him of how for a while he was an average husband, and then he'd becoe nearly obsessed with controlling me, knowing exactly what I was doing at an exact time, where I was, who I had talked to. He was obsessed with his self-image, his gain in the world. Then I found myself getting into how he started to abuse me, verbally and physically. How he dragged me to the bed, did the deed, brushed his hands off, and left. Left me curled up in one corner of the bed, helpless. Like a lost puppy. And how my family refused to help me when I told them, when I _showed_ then what he did to me.

All this time, I hadn't even noticed the overcast sky had become darker, and some of the stars had started to come out, leaking through the cloud cover. Just his presence made me cold, yet I didn't want to be any farther away from him. We sat so we were almost touching, not an inch further. I must have talked for at least an hour. I'd talked until the stars came out.

"Remember when I treated you at the hospital," he finally spoke, his lips parting so collectively that one would think he'd been speaking English for hundreds of years. "before I let you go, I told you to enrich your life. You were just a child, and you had this contagious smile." He smiled, and I too, couldn't help smiling back. "I wanted you to do something with yourself. I trusted that you would find the perfect husband, and have perfect children. I wanted you to be happy. I made you promise me. Do you remember, Esme?"

"Yes." I remembered my promise to him perfectly well. He smiled sadly when it was time for me to leave. I'd never forget that look on his face. The look that said "wait". "I'm sorry I disappointed you, sir." I wish I knew his first name.

He slightly sighed, and the muscles pressed against the cotton of his shirt. My eyes were slaves to his face. Trying desperately to read his expressions. "I'm not disappointed. I'm upset that it had to come to this. You're not happy at all, and that was all I wished for. Your happiness. I just wish I knew what to give you to make you that happy adolescent girl again. I feel that, somehow, I have failed you."

I dared inch in closer to him again. He accepted when our hips touched together on the cold ground, and my hair brushed his shoulder. We didn't talk for what seemed like hours. I yawned.

"Are you cold?" he asked quietly. How could he tell? I slightly nodded, and he took off the jacket to his suit, gently draping it around my shoulders. "Are you tired?" he asked quieter, almost in a tantalizing whisper. I nodded, and he gently put his hand on my outside shoulder, leaning me in so my head was resting against his shoulder. His scent was so strange, I noticed as I inhaled in. it was like the smell of the air right after a thunderstorm, and almost as if the sun could have a scent. I welcomed the new scent, knowing that there was probably not another one like it.

"Dr. Cullen, I –"

"Shh." He said. It was just a soothing sound on his lips as he gently stroked down my shoulder, carefully soothing the pain of my bruises form Charles. "Go to sleep."

"But if I go to sleep, I'll only wake back up to Charles."

"Then I'll wait for you here." he whispered against my hair, and I closed my eyes.

_**SPLASH!**_ I gasped for air, barely even realizing what was happening until I opened my eyes, underwater. Reality flooded back to me all at once; this was no longer my dream, with the colorful big tree and the angelic man whom I didn't even recall a first name to. Bubbles came out of my mouth as I tried desperately to breathe, and I gasped when I was pulled back up. The water basin stood where it always had in the house, filled with water now though, and Charles' hand was at the back of my neck, clamped down so tightly it made it harder to breathe altogether. Just as I was catching my breath, he shoved my head into the freezing water again. Just when my lungs were bursting and I was about to inhale water, he yanked me back up again, throwing me against the wall.

"Get up!" he demanded.

I scrambled to my feet as quick as I could as the back and white cat which I'd named Frost darted behind my legs and hissed at Charles, the gums pulling back over his shiny white teeth. I could see the fur on his shoulders rise. He never liked him, and maybe it was just the sense that some people said animals had. Oh, if I would have listened to you, Frost.

"Charles – Charles, what's wrong?" I tried to ask softly, he was obviously angry. I could see the fury twisted around in his eyes.

"Leave me alone!" he exclaimed, kicking the cat away from him, grabbing me by the neck and throwing me against the wall with great force. I fell again to the floor. His face was turning red, the vein popping out of his forehead. He threw something at me, it was scrunched up in a ball and crinkled. "I'm leaving. Clean up while I'm gone."

He slammed the door, and I crawled forward to pick up the object he had crumpled up and tossed on the floor. I slowly unwrinkled it and flattened it out with the aide of my knee. I nearly gasped as I read the papers.

They were Charles' draft registration. _He'd been drafted for the war. _I dropped the papers and ran outside in my nightgown with bare feet.

"Charles!" I yelled, chasing after him. He was a dot on the road as he walked half-heartedly, almost dragging his feet. "Charles!" I called again, begging for him to stop. I finally caught up to him, pulling on his arm. "Charles, where are you going?"

"To town. Get off me, Esme." He shoved me off, but he didn't use much of his strength. I'd felt the full capacity of it before, and this certainly was not.

"Please, Charles, we can talk about this."

He shoved me to the ground, but I refused to let him just walk away. I got back up again and matched his long strides.

"Please, talk to me."

He hit me over the head like a club, but I only stumbled back a little bit. "Just stop. _Stop. _I don't want you. Get off me." of course I didn't listen. His hands were shaking so terribly it would be believable that he had tremors. My wet hair fell over my face as he rubbed his face in his hands.

"Will you please just listen to me? For once, Charles, for once, just listen!" I cried, grabbing his arm again. He finally stopped and stared me down.

"This is all your fault." He said, and shoved me to the ground again, continuing to walk down the road by himself. This time, I let him go. I let him walk off by himself, because right now, I stopped caring about him. He was my husband, but I was no longer his toy. I was _free._


	4. Return

**Hey! Thanks to all of my viewers, there are very few, but those of oyu who do read, you are all awesome! Oh, and by the way, to one of my viewers, love that you see it as a period piece, and that you care to tell me my errors, thank you so much, but when I wrote things like "gotta", it was sort of meant to intend that Charles was intoxicated, I kind of wanted his voice to be a little slurred, even though it was the early 1900s… you picking up what I'm putting down? Thank you for your wonderful reviews, though. I appreciate every one of them I'm so glad that someone enjoys my story! **

Three: Return

The period where Charles was gone were probably the best of my life, and certainly granted me the most relief. I healed enough so my bruises were just faded memories of his abuse, and the smile returned to my face. Every night, I would sit under my tree with Dr. Cullen; in my dream world I was free from even Charles. Over my head was the black veil that my husband would return. Even I didn't wish him death. There were many things that he deserved, but death wasn't one of them. But if he did come back, I was the one who had to suffer.

I wrote him letters. I told him what was happening here, what the news was, and how his family was, though I tried not to visit them often. But their son was at war, so I figured they might want some support from his wife, but his mother slammed the door in my face. Whenever Charles returned my letters they were always something along the lines of _keep yourself presentable, and don't let the house get dirty._ And then the news came that the war was over, and the troops would be coming back home. My heart skipped a beat when I read the letter; the first time I would see him in months would be at the welcome home parade in town.

So, began the slow, slow march to town, nearly dragging my feet the same way Charles had when he'd gotten his draft in the mail. It was hard for me to believe that he was coming back home. I'd been so happy in the months he had been gone. I had found myself imagining Dr. Cullen even outside of my dreams. Imagining what it would be like to have him for a husband was a daily activity. I would sit at the window and imagine him walking down the lane instead of Charles. Would he bring me flowers? Would he kiss me?

"Hello, Esme." A voice said behind me, and I turned around quickly. I recognized the man form my childhood, though I hadn't seen him in years. Charles kept me in the house so often, and I'd been too excited with my newfound freedom.

"Claude Newport, it that you?" I smiled, checking him up and down. He was wearing his uniform, his tan barrette tilted to the side so some of his black hair showed, and his overcoat was buttoned up all the way. The only difference I saw was that his leg was missing from the knee down, and two wooden crutches were tucked under his arms.

"I almost didn't recognize _you, _last time I saw you, you were all red haired and covered in dirt." He smiled and I couldn't help smiling back. I'd always thought he was handsome, even when he was younger. He had curly black hair and high cheekbones, and I was always racing with him. He was Elmer's friend, so naturally, he was my friend. "Where have you been all this time, Ez?"

I smiled at his old nickname for me. "Oh, you know… just working around the house."

He cocked his head. "I never saw you as much as a housewife, eh? But I guess that's just the way the cookie crumbles." He chuckled. _I'm _not_ a housewife._ I agreed mentally. "So, did you marry well? Who's the lucky man?"

Automatically, my mind went to Dr. Cullen. I'd been imagining him as my husband for so long, but of course, I couldn't possible tell him about the dreams, or the figments of my imagination. "Charles Evenson." I said quieter, and he leaned forward on his crutches like he was surprised, his eyebrows furrowing together.

"Evenson?" he looked at me closely, as if he was making sure he heard me correctly. I nodded, trying to smile. I wanted him to think I was happy. We were such good friends as children. "Oh… so, wanna walk with me, Ez?"

I smiled. "I'd be delighted to. I was actually waiting to see Charles." Actually, I was savoring the moments I had left _without_ him, but Claude didn't need to hear about my problems. Instead of taking his arm, I put my hand on his shoulder. It was sad that he'd lost his leg to the war – he was always so brave, balancing in the hay lofts, climbing to the tops of trees. "Whoa, be careful." I caught him as he nearly slipped, falling to the ground. He smiled slightly at me.

"Thanks. I'm still getting the hang of this." He straightened himself out, hopping on his one foot. All of the sudden, there was cheering and yelling, calling names and crying and laughing. The artillery band was playing, so loudly that people had to yell to be heard, and I nearly lost Claude in the crowd.

Wives were running to their husbands, they were embracing each other, hugging and kissing, crying. I looked through the crowd for Charles, and after weaving through rows of couples embracing; his shaggy brown hair and brown eyes, his nose that was a little bit turned up like a slope, and his strong, fit figure. I walked slowly to him, hoping that maybe something had changed. Could he possibly be happy to see me? Maybe he'd thought about it since he'd been to war, or maybe it had changed his look on the world. Maybe he wanted to hug me, embrace me for the first real time in his life. I ran to him and put my arms around his neck. To my surprise, he hugged me too, wrapping his large arms around my back.

"Did you miss me?" he asked, holding me at shoulder's length. Something was different in his face. Maybe something softer.

"Did you miss _me?"_ I slightly smiled, smoothing down his slightly curly brown hair in the front. Maybe we had grown into love, maybe he _had_ been changed by the war. And maybe, possibly, he even _did_ miss me. "I'm glad you made it home alright."

He didn't say anything more, but he allowed me to link my arm around his. When we were home, I made him dinner, and thankfully did not burn it this time. We ate in silence, but he wasn't glaring at me like he usually was. When the time rolled around for bed, we both slid in silently, but he didn't grab me like usual.

For a while, I believed the abuse was gone. He would go to work, come home, set his briefcase down and would set the table for dinner. Occasionally he kissed me on the cheek, and he wouldn't bother me while we were in bed. All we did was sleep. I started to believe that we _were_ falling in love. But one night, he came home acting strange.

He was walking side to side, with a wobble, tipsy and turvey, stumbling around like he was – drunk. I could tell he was intoxicated. I tried to take his coat from him, but he pulled away, shoving me against the coat rack. The wrungs dug into my back as he grabbed my arm and yanked me to the bedroom.

"Charles… Charles, what's wrong?" I tried to pry his fingers loose, I remembered this from all too many times before. I knew what he was going to do. I knew damn _well_ what he was going to do. "Please, don't. Charles, no –"

"Shut up." His voice slurred, and I could smell the alcohol on his dank breath. I tried to scream, if someone, _anyone_ could hear me, I could be helped. But there was nobody. The neighbors would not hear. They never did.

This continued for the next few nights. He'd drag me to the bed, take my clothes off an force me to be intimate with him. I stopped struggling on about the third night, just giving in to what he wanted. I should have been strong; but I wasn't. I was so weak, and I just gave him what he wanted, just so he wouldn't hurt me anymore. I was so tired of being hurt. I wished I was married to my old friend Claude. I would be happy, he wouldn't batter me around and force me into – this. My life was miserable.

But there were periods of time where Charles left for days; he could have been passed out drunk somewhere, but I didn't care where he was. He'd tricked me into thinking that we were finally falling in love, and then he'd used me. When he finally left, he left me scrunched in a ball in the corner of the bed. I suddenly felt the overwhelming urge to cry, and I did. The kind of tears that come with horrible sobs and a runny nose. The kind of cry where you cry yourself to sleep because you exhaust yourself.

In my dream world, I awoke in the same place that I always did. In the hallowed out shell of my childhood house. I walked down the creaky stairs that were covered in a coating of dust like I hadn't even walked on them last time I was "here". Was this even a place? Was this considered even "anywhere"?

I pondered the thought as I stepped down the last stair of the porch steps, feeling the dust squish up between my bare toes. It was strange how nothing ever changed here; it was a universe where everything happened at the same exact time as it did the time I'd been here before. The wind blew at the exact same time every night; the leaves on the trees were always the same, just in the middle of changing mid-autumn. And the sky was always overcast, with a cover of clouds so thick that the sun never shone through at all, not even the slightest of peeking. The tree we sat under had the same ancient bark that never changed, and the branches were always the same, facing crooked lines up toward the sky.

I walked through the same field that I always did, I knew the exact way to the tree by heart. He was waiting there, of course, leaned against the trunk of the tree. He was dressed in the same brown tweed suit as always, with the patches on the sleeves. He took my hand and pulled me down next to him in the soft grass. I rested my back against the rough, craggy bark of our tree, sighing as I stared out into the field, watching the gray clouds roll in slowly.

"You're troubled." Dr. Cullen observed after he stared at me for a satisfying amount of time. "Please, tell me."

"I – I can't explain." My lip quivered, and apparently he caught it, because he gently guided my head to his shoulder; I inhaled his scent of the woodsy musk and tweed of his jacket that always seemed to smell brand new, and his sweet scent that was so different that anything I ever smelled that I had to close my eyes. "I – I just can't."

He already knew what made my lip quiver so. He already had read my mind. He already _knew_ me. "Esme… look at me." he guided my face up, forcing me to look into his deep pools of topaz. They were unreadable – why couldn't I tell what he was thinking, but he seemed to be able to read my face? "Please, tell me… why do you let him do such things to you? Why do you let it slide by? Please… tell me why you aren't _strong."_

I closed my eyes as the memories came flooding back. One of the first memories that I had; I was about five years old, and my hair was done in two red braids. My face was peppered in brown freckles, and my were wide with young curiosity. Eloise and Elmer, my older brother and sister held my hands, one in each of theirs as they led me out the front door and down the porch. They both swung me up by the hands to try and make me laugh. I giggled as the sun shone down upon my face, my skirt twirling around me as my brother and sister set me back on my feet. But I knew; something was wrong, even though I was young. I knew something was awry, the way that they had ushered me out quickly.

There was yelling from indoors. I strained my little ears to hear, to understand what they were saying, but I only caught a few words. Frustrated, I stood by the window where the curtains had just enough space from the sill for my eyes to peek through and see what was happening. My father was yelling at my mother; it wasn't much saying that my father had always been uncomfortable around children, and it was vise versa with the three of us, so we stayed out of his way. He was a heavy-set man, with large muscles, and always seemed to have a gruff look on his face. The man never attempted much talk with me, so I didn't know much about him. In fact, I believe the longest conversation we ever had was on my wedding day, when he was telling me all of my responsibilities to my husband.

Mother was a practical woman, never showing off too much, modest and humble, but she loved all three of use. But she wanted generic children; a working boy, and two girls that did all of the housework for them. I preferred to run with my brother's crowd, all knowing that she wanted me so badly to be her little baby. But I pulled away, and she allowed me to play with the boys, up until I was about fourteen. Then she tried to reign me back in again, but it was almost too late. Deep down, I knew she was always trying to help me, but I never wanted her help.

I peered through the gap in the shade, watching with wide brown eyes and hands on the sill, on my toes as my father hit my mother across the head so harshly that she fell against the kitchen table. Veins popped out of his face as he yanked her back up by her shoulders and yelled at her again. Being only five years old, barely past a toddler, I could barely understand why in the name of God that my father was hurting my mother. Frantically, I tried to thrust the window open, yelling for my mother, but a pair of strong arms wrapped around my small waist. I kicked, screamed, scratched his face, but Elmer didn't let me down until we were down the road from the house. Hot tears streamed down my face as he finally set me on my feet, and I automatically turned back to run toward the house. Elmer caught me by the hem of my smock.

"Esme, stop!" he exclaimed, picking me up like a sack of potatoes on his shoulder. He was much taller than me, and he was fourteen at the time; nine years older than me, and much stronger. He at least had more than a hundred pounds on me. "Esme!"

"He is hurting her, let me go!" I beat my fists on his back as he carried me farther down the road. "Elmer, let me down!"

"You can't go back in there while Dad's puttin' a beating on her." He warned, seriousness in his eyes.

"Why _not?" _

He sighed, an annoyed, measured sigh as Eloise joined us, smoothing over her skirt and smock obsessively. She was twelve then, and she was always so much prettier than me. "Because that's the way it is. You don't bother father when he's angry, and in the hitting mood. It's a part of life, hitting. That's what father told me when I was about your age." He patted my head, ruffling my braids. "Now, come on. Do you want to go climb some trees or something?"

I stared up into the doctor's waiting face. "Because it's all I know."

"Oh." He said in a smooth, untouchable voice. I melted into his side then, laying my head against his chest. Imagining what it would be like to live here forever. If only there was someone to help me, besides the man from this dream world. I could only escape here during sleep, or a daydream. And I didn't have the strength the imagine this world on my own during the day while Charles was doing such horrible things to me.

"Please don't let me go." I begged as he entwined our fingers together softly. "Don't make me go back to him."

"You cannot stay here forever, Esme. You're stronger than you think you are."

Then, I knew it was time for me to go to "sleep". To actually rest in my sleep, instead of dreaming. But I certainly knew that dream Dr. Cullen would stay with me, even if I wasn't aware. As I closed my eyes, the last thing I saw were his felinic topaz eyes, a reminder of the sun that waited just over the horizon.

I really awoke curled up in the bed again, with my arms wrapped around my knees like a child rocking in the fetal position. It was definitely morning, because the sun was streaming in through the curtains, and I could no longer see my breath. Something didn't feel right. My stomach felt strange; like it was churning around in circles, doing somersaults and flips, coiling and corkscrewing into knots and shapes beyond the capacity of my mind. I sat up to try and settle the unnerving feeling as my cat jumped up onto the bed beside me.

"Frost, please go on." I tried to push him off the bed as my stomach did a flip, but he rubbed his body against me again. "Frost, enough." I warned again, but his purr only warbled in the back of his throat, kneading his paws on my leg. I jumped off the bed, startling him as I did so, and he _mrrowed_ and leapt to the floor as I raced to the bathroom, holding my hand over my mouth. I obviously wasn't going to make it to the toilet, so I found the closest thing possible and threw head into the sink just in time to vomit. And just as I had felt horrible, I felt perfectly fine just after releasing it. Startled that I could feel perfectly fine after feeling like I was going to throw up my intestines, I straddled my hands on either side of the sink and bowed my head, composing myself. This vomiting episode happened for the next two days before I decided that something must be really wrong with me. Being the worrier that I was, I had thought up things that could possibly be wrong, an incurable disease, words I couldn't even pronounce, but in truth, behind my anxiety, I knew that it was probably depression, or stress.

Charles hadn't returned since he left me in the bed the last time, so I left the house for the first time in about a week. And even then, I'd just been sent out to stock on supplies and food. It was my worst trip to town in my life; bloodied and bruised as I was, I didn't even try to make myself look like I was alright when I walked through the square. The shopkeeper stared at me with such curiosity and disgust that I could barely look him in the eyes.

"Esme – oh, my God…" his wife put her hands over her nose as if she was praying silently for the short moment she held them there. "What's happened to you."

"I'm alright." I reassured her, taking her hands, clenching my shaking ones around her wrists. I'd taken to quivering, usually all the time, probably from the stress, but it made me look even more unstable, which was something I didn't need when trying to keep up the "just fine" act. "Please, don't worry." Then I took my basket of goods and left as quickly as I could.

This time, I combed through my hair, wearing long sleeves to try and conceal my bruises at least, and made sure my hat shadowed my face enough, at least enough for curious or nosy townspeople. I knew enough about them that rumors would start, they'd get twisted person after person, and eventually, it would spiral out of control.

I saddled and bridled the horse, something I knew how to do from my childhood. Elmer and I would race our horses Boomer and Firefly, I'd fallen off so many times that it became a regular feeling. I wasn't afraid of horses like some of my friends were. When I had friends. I knew that I had to go and see a doctor for the sake of my own health, so I took advantage when Charles was gone. I walked the horse all the way into town to test the stomach issue, but I did not seem to get motion sick form the sway of its steps, so I rode faster the rest of the way. There was a doctor in town, but he dealt with less serious things, stitches, sprains, sore throats. I rode all the way to Columbus, which took about two hours on horseback, and I walked part of the way as to not overrun it. It was a rather young horse though, and it could run at a fairly brisk pace.

After tying it in the provided area, I entered the hospital that I'd only ever been in once; when I was sixteen, I had broken my leg. Images of Dr. Cullen flooded into my head – was he still there? _No, don't be silly,_ I told myself. He'd left, just after he'd treated me.

In the waiting room, crossed my legs and tapped my nails on the chair. All I _didn't_ need was an illness that needed medication. Finally, I was called back. I shakily rose to my feet, ready to hear what I prepared myself for.

**What's up, guys! I would just like to thank everyone who is reading my story… sorry, I know it might seem like it's going a little bit slow… I hope I can speed it up a little in the next few chapters! Thank you SO much for all the wonderful reviews, I really appreciate it… you guys rock! Ps, sorry for mistakes in my typing and stuff, I have always been the world's worst typer, and I miss a lot of things when I go through and edit. You guys are awesome for pointing it out to me. **


	5. Enough

Four: Enough

_"Pregnant?"_ I raised my eyebrows in shock. It was official, I was going to have a stroke, I was going to die, right here in this hospital, I was going to have a stroke and bite through my tongue. No, no, _please_ no. Not this. Not _now._

"Is there something wrong, Mrs. Evenson?" the doctor who I'd only just met today asked, concern in his voice. Of all the things I'd expected, I was caught utterly and completely off guard.

"No, I'm fine." I lied, pressing my palms into my forehead. Maybe if I pressed hard enough, I could bore the new information into my head. How could it possibly be true? It couldn't be. This couldn't be possible. "Are you – entirely sure?"

"If there was another possible diagnosis, I would have explored it, I assure you, madam." He put his hand on my shoulder. "Are you very sure you're going to be alright? Would you like somebody to escort you home?" he asked kindly, his well-aged face twisted into concern.

"I'm – fine." I hesitated to say, and shook his hand. "Thank you." I slid off of the small padded table and inhaled so deeply that it felt like I could never get enough air. My lungs expanded and contracted slowly as I took measured breaths, trying to configure whether I was having a panic attack or not. It had happened before, while I was alone in the house, one of the days when Charles left; all of the sudden I couldn't breathe enough, I felt so nauseated, and was so anxious about_ everything._ And what scared me, as I lay there hyperventilating and crying, was that I knew it would happen again. And it did, a few more times. I knew what it felt like, but this was a different type of anxious. A helpless anxious.

I numbly walked out to where I tied the horse, taking it by the halter and walking it down the street. I could barely feel anything anymore. I was stuck in this frozen state; I could move, but I no longer had the feelings. I walked that horse all the way to the middle of a nearly deserted dirt road and fell to my knees, sobbing with my head in my hands.

I wept like an urchin into my hands. How in the world was I to take care of a _child_, I couldn't even protect myself. And I was reminded of that as I peeked through my fingers and saw the bruises and marks spread out on the surface of my arms. If I couldn't even keep myself out of harm's way, what was I going to do with – with a _baby._

"_Baby."_ The words slipped my own lips as I trembled there, on the ground. One blow from Charles, and it was all over. It was gone. I knew that if this was taken care of improperly, I would be responsible. _I_ would be responsible for the murder of my baby. _Baby. It was just a _BABY.

I suddenly rose to my feet, an epiphany flooding my head. This wasn't just any baby, this was _my_ baby, no matter who the father was. Even if it was Charles Evenson, there was still a part of _me_ in there, and I liked to believe a very strong part of it. This wasn't just another baby that was being talked about, this was _my baby. _I abruptly mounted the horse and ran the rest of the way home. If the house ever was a home. But it was the closest thing I had, so I ran there, leaving the horse in the barn, praying that Charles wasn't home. He wasn't, so I ran upstairs and ripped just about every garment I had out of the drawers, flinging them on the bed, the floor, the windowsill. They draped everywhere until I found what I was searching for; my black dress. I'd only ever worn it to funerals, or occasions of the sort, but I quickly changed into it, putting on the matching black hat with my hair pinned in the back. I pulled out the old carpet bag that used to belong to my mother, folding only two pairs of clothes inside; one, a very average white shirt and long skirt, two, the navy blue dress that I was always dressed in for Dr. Cullen in my "dreams". After folding them as quickly as I could, I crossed to the bureau and ran my hand along the top drawer's bed. Just as I remembered, there was a crease in the drawer paper where Charles hid his extra money that was usually spent on alcohol, all the more "attractive". I stumbled upon the not-so-well-hidden stash when I was dusting out the drawers and changing the papers. I kept the creased one in this drawer so he wouldn't call me a snoop and cause more unnecessary problems.

With shaking hands, I counted the money. Ten, twenty, thirty, up into I got to a hundred dollars. More than enough for a railway ticket out of here. my hands still quaked terribly as I tucked it away in the carpet bag, leaving a bit of it in my apron pocket, and took a moment to compose myself. I would probably never come back here. The place where I grew up, where I ran with Elmer and Claude and their friends. Where I had become even more a part of their lives than the other girls that lived close by. The house where I was born was only miles away.

This was also where Charles took residence. I was willing to leave him. I'd had enough.

I never had gotten motion sick before, but I did vomit a few times on the train. The only time I ever had ridden one was when I went to Chicago to see my brother, and I was young, and to say anything, not in the early stages of pregnancy. The rocking and swaying of the train car churned my stomach, and I only just had time to beeline for the bathroom. Which didn't help much because it was a bathroom, but still in a moving train. Finally, it subsided and I could curl up in my seat and stare out the window to try and keep my mind off the rocking. As I stared at the trees and towns we were passing by, I remembered the train station. I stood there thinking for probably past an hour whether I should really do this. And then I remembered _why_ I was doing this. So I decided to go to Wisconsin. When I was about thirteen, my mother, Eloise, and I had visited my cousin Pauline and her husband Isaac to see their new baby. They were so kind to me, and seemed to like me best for some reason, so I was planning to run to their house. It seemed the most logical and quickest way to make a getaway, and I'd never told Charles anything about them or where they lived. Charles and I never made much talk. It was awkward, and most of it ended in silence and him leaving.

Every step closer to being rid of Charles, small as it was, was still a step. It was time for me to go. Now was the time. It was as good a time as any, and it was strangely good timing.

The man sitting next to me was reading the newspaper, and smelled slightly of berries and musk. He had a beard to soften his mouth though, and he asked me if I was alright when I exited the restroom and returned to my seat.

"I'm fine. Thank you." I smiled slightly, trying not to focus on the rancid taste in the inside of my mouth. He nodded politely and went back to reading his newspaper, though he kept a watchful eye on me. After the train ride, when we were exiting to the station, I felt his soft hand on my shoulder.

"Miss, are you sure you're alright?" he smiled slightly, genuinely, his gently brown eyes alight with concern.

"I'm completely fine. Thank you." I smiled slightly, clutching my carpet bag in both of my small hands.

"Where are you headed, miss?" he asked, his browns furrowing together.

"Milwaukee, sir." I switched weight from my right to my left foot. "I'm visiting my two cousins."

"Haven't you a ride, miss?"

"I'm afraid not." I shook my head, staring down at my feet.

"I would be happy to escort you. As far as you need to go." I looked up at him, startled. It was so improper to ride with a man I wasn't married to, especially one I barely knew! He cleared his throat. "If you'll excuse me, miss. My name is Harland Capsion, excuse me for not introducing myself." He took off his hat and slightly bowed his head at me. "I'm a mapmaker, and a geographer. I'm heading out West to map some uncharted territory, and this is just one of my stops. You see, I've been travelling non-stop for the past few weeks, there is only so much I can take. Please don't think I'm being forward, but you look like you need to go somewhere, and I just want to help."

I hesitated for a moment before sticking out my hand, shaking his. "Esme."

He smiled. "Charmed." He smiled, allowing me to take his arm. "Come, I shall take you to the carriage I have prepared." He led me to a horse and carriage, taking my hand to help me up into the seat. This was completely, to the core ludicrous, but what other options did I have? I could hitchhike, but just the thought of that could make me sick again. I at least felt like I knew this man, even a small amount. He smelled greatly of the outdoors, and his smile was soft, and for some reason, somehow I trusted him. He reminded me of my brother, his soft smile and supple brown eyes.

"Where are you from?" he asked me after a while of silence. I looked up as he shifted the reins in his hands.

"Ohio." I smoothed my hands down my legs, past my knees.

He nodded, and I stared out at the scenery. There was another awkward silence until he spoke again. "If you don't mind my asking, why are you alone?" he cleared his throat with his knuckle to his lips, like he was trying to avoid eye contact.

I sighed deeply. "My husband – I lost him to the war." I hated to lie through my teeth, but it was too out of the ordinary to be traveling all on my own. He nodded.

"I'm sorry for your loss. I'm afraid I never married." He said, but he spoke it in such a way that it incorporated that he didn't need to have a wife to be happy. "So, if you'd please give me directions, I'll just get you as close as I can."

I gave him as thorough directions as I could remember; it was years ago that I visited Pauline. But I did remember some of the landmarks, and the certain roads we passed. In fact, I even remembered playing in an old red barn when we visited, and I was surprised I recognized it. it was slightly more pink, faded in color, but it was familiar all the same. Thankfully, their home was very distinctive, with a baby blue porch and green shutters, and he halted in front of it. I was sure this was their house.

"Thank you." I smiled softly, graciously, as he shook my hand gently, slightly squeezing it.

"All of the best wishes for you, Esme." He kissed the surface of my hand gently. "And I wish you well."

"I can never thank you enough." I smiled, taking my bag in one hand as he helped me down out of the carriage.

"Don't even mention it. I hope to see you again someday. I'm Westward now, in a few days." He waved. "If you ever need anything, remember that my name is Harland Capsion."

I smiled and waved again graciously. "Thank you, Harland." I leaned up to kiss him on the cheek in thanks, and walked up the porch steps as he whipped the horse, heading on down the road. I knocked on the door and waited.

The door creaked open, and a boy smiled at me. "How may I help you?" he asked politely. He was wearing a pair of trousers and a vest, and tan suspenders over his coat. He was actually quite handsome, but I didn't recognize him.

"Martin, who's at the door, darling – oh! Esme!" Pauline showed up at the door, throwing her arms around me. She was almost just as I remembered her; dark haired and thin, and pretty in a classic way with high cheekbones and a thin face. I remembered playing with her as a very young child when she used to live near us. I must have been about ten, and she was about fourteen. "What in the Lord's name are you doing here? Come in, come in!" she exclaimed, putting her arm around me. "Esme, I know you met him when he was just only a baby, but this is Martin." She smiled, motioning to her son. He was blonde, with blue eyes and was quite handsome. He sneezed into the crook of his arm, and his mother scolded him. "Martin, you know you have allergies, you shouldn't be exposed to the outdoors at this time of day, shoo." She smiled at me as he bounded upstairs.

"Pauline, I need to talk to you." I nearly whispered. She nodded.

"Of course, Esme, anything for you. You're all grown up, you were so small! And scrawny, you've gone and grown right up!" she smiled, pinching my cheek. "You're so beautiful."

"Thank you." I cleared my throat as she led me to the kitchen table, pulling out a chair for me. "Pauline, please sit down."

"What's wrong?" she looked concerned, her eyebrows knitting together in concern for her favorite cousin. "Are you alright?"

"I – I need somewhere to stay. Just for a while." I hung my head, looking into my lap. "I've run away from Charles. He doesn't know I'm here." then I went into the entire rendition of how I'd married into an abusive life, how he'd gone off to war, how he'd returned and put up a nice act, then had forced me to sleep with him almost every night. I told her everything accept my dreams about Dr. Cullen. And my pregnancy.

"Oh, Esme." Pauline put her hand over her mouth for about the fifth time. "You poor, poor thing. Come here." she knew I was going to cry, and guided my head to her shoulder before the tears started to flow.

"Pauline, I – I…" I could barely finish without gasping or sobbing. "Now I'm pregnant and I don't know what to do. You were the only person I could turn to."

She stroked over my hair. "A child mustn't grow up in such an environment as that. It needs love, and safety, and its mother, most of all. You can stay here, darling. For as long as you need." She cooed in my ear as long as it took to calm me down and get me to stop crying entirely. Maybe it was just the new hormones – I really didn't cry that often.

So, I stayed with Pauline, Isaac, their son Martin, and their daughter Lydia. Since she was young, three years old, I practiced taking care of her. Pauline was wonderful; she loved me like her sister after a week of staying in their home, and Isaac never once complained. He even told me that I was welcome any time I wanted, and he was just as sympathetic of his wife. It was somehow strange for me to see a family that didn't have a husband beating on them. Isaac played catch with Martin in the yard, occasionally, and Pauline braided Lydia's hair happily. They were all happy. I'd never seen a _happy_ family before. Not entirely. My family had its pleasant moments, but my father was always angry. And Charles and I were barely ever happy.

I started to forget about Charles. He might not even be looking for me. The only thing that reminded me of him at all was the way I was growing; in a way that I never had before. Eventually, after the morning sickness stopped, I noticed that my torso was starting to become more round, week by week. First off, I was afraid, because my body had never changed in that way before. It was so unfamiliar to me, I didn't know what was normal, and what was out of the ordinary. After about four months of living with my new "family", I stood in front of the mirror on the back of my door, staring at myself only in my underwear. My skin was pale, as usual. Nothing was abnormal there. I turned sideways, sticking my tongue on the inside of my cheek as I studied myself with great curiosity. No one would walk in on me, the door was locked, and I was fully content to stare at the curve in my abdomen for hours. I couldn't even imagine it not being a part of me now. I smoothed my hand down it, feeling the raised bump. Had it not always been a part of me?

I cupped the bottom of my stomach in one hand and smoothed the other from the top down to the bottom. I moved that hand to the top again, keeping the other one on the bottom, and gently cradled it. _Cradled_ it. It was my baby.

That was the only thing that mattered to me now. It was my world, what I lived for. And it lived for me. It was the first thing I had ever loved for real. I would give it everything, because it was _my_ everything.

I stared at myself in the mirror for the next two months after that first time. Each month, I looked so different. I was beginning to fill out in my face a little more, making it less thin and more heart-shaped. And it somehow made my hair look better. My curves filled out a bit more, of course, giving me a more desirable figure, and of course, my stomach got bigger. Pauline warned me about stretch marks, bruises, pink marks. But I didn't have any of those. Just the growth out of my abdomen. And it was four months I had been staying there when I first felt it move.

I was alone, and it was late at night. I was lying awake in my bed because the nightmares had kept me up – it was Charles again. He always came to find me, he dragged me away back home and started to beat me again. It was then that I realized that I hadn't had one dream of Dr. Cullen since I came to stay with Pauline. I started to panic. I knew it was a dream, but had he left me? He wasn't real, but I missed him. Somehow, I just _missed_ him. Were the dreams even real? Or had I just imagined them being real to block out the stress? _My God, how I wish I knew his name._ I thought. And that's when I felt it.

The tiniest, most timid of movements, but it was a progression all the same. At first, I thought I was just anxious and had butterflies in my stomach, but there it was again. An owl hooted outside as I got up as quickly as I could, my gown flowing around my feet as I scurried to the mirror. Did I imagine it? Yes, I must have – there it was again! My hand flitted to my growing stomach, waiting to feel it again, this time under my hand.

My face lit up as I felt the little nudge again. Very soft and subtle, I had never felt anything like it before in my entire life. How I longed for this to be Dr. Cullen's baby, feel part of him move under my hand, other than that sinful rapist I was married to. But how could any part of this little thing be bad? How could it possible take after its father if it were so small, only big enough to give me a little nudge? At that moment, I didn't even think of anything else than my baby. It was time for me to stop caring about Charles, and start caring for myself.

As I became part of this new family that I came to love, and they came to love me, I nearly forgot about Charles. To me, he was gone. He was just a candle in the wind. And then I received the letter. Pauline had just come back with the post, and I was very surprised when she handed me an envelope addressed to me. I stared at the messy handwriting for the longest time, I wanted to throw it across the room. I knew that handwriting. With shaking, nervous hands, I opened it.

_Esme,_

_ I've been waiting for you to return, by now I feel that we can work it out and become a real family. Please, we can compromise. I'll be there to get you on Monday of next week._

_ Charles_

Immediately, I started to hyperventilate and I pressed my forehead onto the edge of the table to try and compose myself. The half crinkle letter dropped to the floor as my vision started to go black, and it appeared like I was looking through a tunnel.

"Esme? Essssme?" I felt a hand on my back, and heard a voice. Did I know that voice? Yes, I did, it was Martin. "Are you alright?"

I could barely answer, just I grabbed the sleeve of his coat and pulled him down. "Martin, go get your mother."

His expression became bewildered and shocked at my urgency, and I heard him run off. Moments later, he returned with Pauline. She was just as shocked as he, and immediately took action.

"Martin, go get a wet cloth." She demanded calmly, and I could hear his feet scoot on the floor as he ran to the sink. "Esme, darling, what is it?" she softly stroked over my hair, a calm demeanor to her affable voice. "What is it, love?"

I could barely talk, let alone move, and my chest felt like it had a hole punctured in it, but I somehow croaked out something about the letter she'd handed me only moments ago. After a moment of trying to communicate, she stooped down and found the crinkled vanilla colored paper on the floor, smoothing it out to read it. There was silence, and I saw her jaw lock. Martin returned with a damp washcloth.

"Thank you." Pauline smiled at him, but it was a tight smile, and told him to go along. He shook his head.

"I want to stay." He came around to my other side and put his hand on my shoulder. Pauline and Isaac raised such nice children. I loved both Lydia and Martin, like my own brothers and sisters, and I could see that they loved me in the same way.

"Very well." She replied, taking my shoulders and sitting me up. She wiped the corners of my eyes with the cloth and then gently caressed my forehead with it. "Stay calm. This is all going to be alright."

My vision started to return to normal as she wiped my eyes for me gently. I noticed that Isaac was standing in the doorway now, looking as confused as ever. He held Lydia on his hip, who was holding a new bouquet of flowers for the vase on the table. I searched for my voice.

"What's wrong?" Isaac asked, setting his daughter down. She scurried to my side and wrapped her arms around my right arm.

"Look." Pauline handed him the crinkled paper that I could barely stand to look at. Charles. He was coming to _get_ me. How had he found me? I thought back to every letter I sent out. The only other person I wrote was my mother, to tell her how I was doing, where I was. She was the only other person who knew my whereabouts. The only person I could think of that could have told him where I was.

"Oh, dear," Isaac nodded, shaking his head. "What are we to do?"

"He's lying." I whispered. "He's coming to get me, he's going to hurt me again." Pauline took both of my shaking hands as I started to break down. I fell to the floor, on my knees, my quivering hands the only thing supporting me on the floor. My heart was beating faster than a hummingbird's wings, my muscles were painful and tense. I felt like I was being squeezed and constricted, so I gasped and tried to take in as much air as possible, which didn't help at all. In fact, it probably made it worse. I felt so dizzy, like I had been spinning in circles, and my hands and arms felt awfully clammy. Ringing was in my ears as I sobbed, choking on the ground, mentally breaking down. I couldn't even help it, which was the scariest part. I couldn't fathom thinking of my new life being destroyed, temporary as it may be, by Charles again. I couldn't even measure the fact that Charles had lied before, and that he was going to harm me. One quick blow to the stomach, and this was finished. And I loved my baby. I already loved it more than my own life. But I couldn't bear to go through the pain again.

I was also lightheaded in this internal chaos, dizzy as I stared at the floor with tears streaming down my cheeks, and my stomach felt tight and upset. Like I might vomit, but my throat was too swollen to do so. Sobbing even harder, I let myself fall to the floor helplessly.

"Esme, dear, Esme, calm down." Pauline kneeled beside me, but she just couldn't understand my panic, my urgency to try and relay the fact that I couldn't possible deal with Charles, especially not in my condition. Even if this was his child, it was inside of _me, and it was my child. _

"Please, don't – don't m-make me g-go back to him!" I pleaded, holding onto her sleeve desperately, wailing a piercing sob and begging her on my knees. "For my baby."

"You dear heart, please settle down. We believe you. We know Charles is a _bad_ man. We won't let him hurt you again." she soothed in a mothering tone, stroking over my hair and crooning to me.

After I settled, I was completely exhausted. Isaac insisted that I lie down because I'd had a full out panic attack, and that was why I felt so drained. Because it took all of my energy to be so paranoid, so upset and desperate. He and Pauline covered me up in bed, and he left to check on the children. She stayed with me, perching at the side of my bed.

"How do you feel?" she gently stroked my arm, still soothing me. She had maternal instincts even more than my mother did. She would have just sent me to bed.

"I'm alright, I assure you." I patted her hand back. "Very tired."

"Another panic attack wouldn't be good for the baby." She said comfortingly. "That's why you need your rest. We're going to get you away from here, I promise. I wouldn't just let you suffer with him again. Lydia started crying when I told her you weren't going to stay here any longer. She says she wanted to come with you." She slightly smiles. "She loves you. So do Martin and Isaac. They're just boys; they don't show it as much. But they are concerned for you."

I slightly smiled, but it was a weak smile. "Where am I to go?"

She smoothed down the blankets. "Isaac has a small house that he uses when he goes to Ashland to work, and we decided it would be a suitable place for you to stay, even if temporary. Until the baby's born, I could stay with you. To help you. You couldn't possibly stay by yourself. Not with how far along you are."

"I couldn't tear you away from your family."

"You _are_ my family. And anyway, it isn't far. It's about a day away." She comforted, then patted my hand. "We'll leave tomorrow."

I was indefinitely debilitated, so I closed my eyes and passed out into a deep sleep. Dr. Cullen was not there.


	6. Strings

Five: Strings

The house in Ashland was perfect. It reminded me of the house that I would live in if I were happily married. It was small, yes, but it was warm and cozy, and I was comfortable there. I posed as a war widow, just as I had told Harland Capsion. I felt guilty for living with my cousins so long, so I got a teaching job, just as I had always wanted, and gave some of the money to their family. They barely accepted, but I insisted. They'd done so much for me.

Pauline stayed with me, just as she said she would. I felt horrible because her family was so far away, but she insisted that she stay with me just in case.

It was terrifying each time that Charles came closer to getting me. He chased us for days until we could settle in the small house. It couldn't possibly be healthy for me to be running around so much, and I believe both Pauline and were relieved when we lost him. We settled in Ashland.

And then the time came, and I was entirely glad that my cousin was there.

I was scared. More scared than I'd ever been in my life. I could have dealt with Charles hitting me right now, I wouldn't have been half as afraid. Not only was I frightened of the pain, but I was also afraid of the type of mother I'd be. What would I do if I couldn't handle taking care of a child on my own? I knew that Pauline wouldn't be there to help me forever. Could I even take care of a baby? A _newborn_ baby? I was the youngest in my family, so I'd never been around babies before. While I fretted, the pain finally came.

It was unexplainably arduous pain that made me feel like I was splitting in half, like I wanted to tear my hair out. The doctor offered to put me to sleep so I didn't feel the pain anymore. He said that they did it a lot these days, putting people in labor to sleep so they couldn't feel the pain, but I refused. I wasn't going to miss a moment, I would meet my child with full consciousness. I fought tooth and nail against them to let me stay awake; the pain may have influenced how aggressive I was. Finally, the doctor backed away and let me have it my own way. I was going to meet my baby while I was fully awake.

And I did. There it was, there _he_ was. He didn't cry at first, and his eyes were closed, but I knew he was mine. All of him. He was all mine. He was all_ me. _I'd spent numerous nights, lying awake and wondering what it would look like. I expected it to look like Charles, with his turned up nose and coarse hair, but he looked just like me. His nose was perfect and had tiny little freckles. Though he was now crying, he owned my little dimples on his perfect cheeks. My heart swelled for him; I never loved anything, not like _this._ I loved my brother and sister, my mother, somewhat, but this was different. As the nurse cleaned off his impossibly small body, wrapping him up to keep him from getting cold, my universe stopped spinning. My life was suspended by strings, invisible strings that held me together. _Snip, snip._ There were a million little snips, each one something tethering me to this earth. Each one was held by this tiny baby bundle. I looked up at the nurse that seemed to have asked me a question, but I couldn't hear the first time. I was too absorbed in looking at him. She looked slightly annoyed and asked again.

"Are you ready?"

I stared dumbly at her. "For what?"

She huffed again. "To hold him."

Hold him? I didn't even think my arms were even a remote bit strong enough. But instead of letting me answer, she slipped the tiny squirming object into my arms. Surprisingly, my arms didn't give out. they wobbled and shook a little bit, but I held onto him as tightly as possible without thinking I was hurting him. I stared into his eyes.

He stared right back. Possibly like I was something beautiful that he was looking at. Like Niagara falls, or the Grand Canyon, the view from the top of a mountain when you can stroke the cloud bank with your fingers, and you think _is this real?_ That was the way he stared at me. His little eyes were the same color brown as mine, as small as dimes, and his little fingers curled in on his palm. A tear flowed down my cheek as I cradled him for the first time, as we just stared at each other. Oh, how much I loved him. More than words could express. His wrinkly soft skin that brushed against my skin as we touched simultaneously. He was close enough to smell – his newborn baby smell. I inhaled it slowly, savoring it.

"What's his name?" Pauline gently touched my arm, but I barely felt it. I was too wrapped up in him, my son. He was the most beautiful sight I'd ever seen in my life. Even more than the old charming farm that I lived on at as a girl, more beautiful that the blonde doctor that had fixed my broken leg so many years ago that seemed like a dream. The love for my son surpassed any other love that I felt in my entire existence, like I had been walking around with my eyes closed, and suddenly, now they were opened. I would kill for him. I would die for him. Any other achievement in my life paled to him. I felt this deeply intense desire to preserve him, protect him, like a wolf to her pups.

"Russell." I whispered, stroking my thumb over his cheekbone as he slightly gurgled and made the weakest, most uplifting little cough that brought me even farther into the trance.

"That's a nice name for him." the nurse said, slightly hovering to get a better look at him while he wasn't crying. His soft hair was a light brown color, a little lighter than mine, and was so soft that it almost was in tufted little spikes. His lips, oh, his lips were so perfect and shaped like those of a god.

"You did wonderful, Esme." Pauline smiled gently, but I was barely listening. I was too busy thinking of how I was holding my own baby.

Or more like he was holding me. The strings to my universe centered around him. If he was unhappy, I was unhappy. If he wanted the world, I wanted to give it to him. Each of his ten toes and each of his ten fingers were exactly perfect, as were his tiny little nails. Of course, he did have some aspects of Charles. His eyes were my color, but had little darker flecks, as his father did, and his ears slightly stuck out as well. But he was no son of his. By blood, yes, but he would never be a part of him.

Every other relationship I'd ever had, anyone I'd ever loved – they were all secondary. This was my one and only perfect little love.

"He's beautiful." I spoke softly, nearly whispering as I leaned my forehead against his tiny little head. "He's the most perfect thing I've ever seen." He was. I never had seen anything so beautiful. He should be ugly, because he was wrinkled and pink. But he wasn't ugly to me. I could see he was going to be adorable.

I signed his birth certificate while Pauline held him, and my heart felt empty the second he was lifted from my arms, though he was within my view. I signed my name shakily in cursive, then his. Russell Evenson. His name was just as perfect as him. On the certificate, I was his only guardian. I left the spot for Charles' name blank so he couldn't claim him if he ever wanted to. But I would keep my baby out of his reach with whatever it took. As I was filling out the last few lines, my eyes started to droop, and I could barely hold the pen any longer.

"Let me take him for you, dear. So you can rest. I'll take him to the nursery." The nurse said after my cousin transferred him back to my arms which were the only place that he seemed to belong. I shook my head.

"No." I refused, staring into his eyes again.

"Goodness, darling, you're falling asleep sitting up." She tsk-tsked, shaking her head. "He'll just sleep in the nursery. I'll take him while he's asleep. You'll barely know he's gone." She coaxed, and after a few moments of consideration, I reluctantly handed him over. I still felt exhausted, and I was sure I was a mess. I'd never done so much work. I fell asleep immediately with my arms still in the cradle position.

When I awoke, Pauline was still at my side, but she cradled a squirming bundle in her arms. I abruptly sat up, rubbing my eyes, still feeling exhausted, but a little more rested than before, all the same.

"You look better, dear." My kind-hearted cousin smiled, trying to soothe the soft bleating coming from the blanket. "It's a good thing you're awake, he's been like this since he woke up." She nodded down at the crying baby, and I opened my arms for him. Once he was in the cradle again, he ceased his whimpering, staring with his huge eyes up at me, seeming to be smiling with them. I smiled back, rocking him slightly. After a while of just staring at him again, trying to decipher whether all of this had really happened, I fed him, listening to his perfect little sucking noises. Even the way he sucked on his fingers afterward was perfect.

I slept with ease that night for the first time in a very _long_ time. Another sleep without Dr. Cullen. He hadn't made an appearance in one of my dreams since the day I had discovered my pregnancy. These dreams were filled with my Russell, my new light, and they were all incredibly happy and perfect, just like him. Again, the setting was the old farm, my place of birth, and where I grew up. A boy, that was so handsome that could be none other than him, chased me through the field, laughing and yelling with joy. His soft, brown hair became untucked from his ears as he ran, finally catching up to me, grabbing my arm. I scooped him up and swung him around, kissing his forehead. God, did he look like me. Anyone with vision could see that he was mine.

We walked together to the old field that I could walk backwards with my eyes closed, and he seemed to know the way just as well as I did. The old, giant tree was the same as it always looked, though the mysterious blonde doctor no longer sat under it in his brown tweed suit. Instead, he and I shared the shade of the tree, basking in the sun's rays. This time – the sun shone fully bright.

I woke feeling warm and happy, waking up knowing that my son was here, comforting that we were in the same building, and we would see each other soon. I yawned and stretched my arms behind my head as the doctor walked in.

"Good morning, Mrs. Evenson." He said, setting down his wooden clipboard and ink pen on the small table in the room. "How do you feel today?"

I slightly smiled. "Still sore, but better. May I see my son?" I looked up at him expectantly, opening my arms, ready for him already. All I wanted to do was stare into his little eyes and stroke his hair again.

He cleared his throat. "That's what I came to talk to you about, Mrs. Evenson. There's a problem with Russell."

I immediately lost my smile. "What's the problem? There's a problem? Where is he?"

"He's a little bit –" he scratched his chin. "Bluer than we'd like to see in a newborn. And he started coughing late last night. He's in the nursery. Running a fever."

I clasped my hands together, trying to keep them from doing something I regretted, clenching my jaw. "What can we do?"

He shook his head. "Keep a close eye on him. He's too small for the prescription drugs, they'd tear right through him, I'm afraid. It just wouldn't be safe to give them to such a new baby. In the next couple of days, we can watch him."

"May I see him? Please." I begged, trying to keep my lip from quivering too exuberantly.

"Of course." He took me down to the nursery where there were plenty of other sleeping and crying babies. Pauline was sitting with mine, holding him against her shoulder. I could already hear his incredibly effete coughing against her. She shook her head at me before transferring him to my arms. I inspected him for the "over-blueness" that the doctor had mentioned, and around his lips did seem to be a bit too frost-colored. Around his finger and toenails was slightly discolored as well, as was the tip of his nose. I had to restrain my worry, telling myself over and over that this was normal, and it would, in time, pass, and we'd be discharged. We'd go _home. _But his condition only seemed to worsen.

As the hours passed, I found myself patting his back as he coughed more and more often, and he refused to let me feed him. It seemed that each passing moment, his breathing became more rapid and shallow. His fever rose. The doctors checked him routinely, and my arms ached without him, and I couldn't help crying for him when he cried for me, most likely frightened when the scary doctors pressed their stethoscopes to his chest. His cries were long, drawn out, desperate. But each time he was returned to my arms, I kissed him, rocked him, murmured soft words in his ear. He would yawn and fall back asleep, but I watched with worry.

On the second day of holding him, rocking him routinely, two doctors took him away to examine him again. They were gone what seemed like forever. The wall clocked seemed to be going minutes in seconds. Finally, the doctor who had delivered my baby returned. Without him.

"Where's Russell?" my voice cracked as I asked, afraid for the worse.

"Mrs. Evenson," he sat beside me. "We need to talk about him."

"What about him? Is he getting better?" I asked, hopefulness in my voice. His eyes did not return the feeling.

"He's taken a turn for the worse. His breathing is shallow, that suggests that he has mucus in his lungs. An infection, Mrs. Evenson." He told me as if I'd never heard of an infection. "He's having trouble inhaling oxygen, that's what I'm saying. It's harder for him to inhale. You know. You've felt his breathing."

"Yes, but – doctor, isn't it normal for newborns to breathe that way?" I tried to find a way out.

"In some cases, yes, but your baby's is incredibly shallow. He's been getting bluer slowly, and that usually means lack of oxygen."

"Well, do something." I demanded, gritting my jaw.

"We're doing all we can, making him as comfortable as possible. Keeping him in check. But there isn't much else we can do."

"So you'll just let him suffocate."

"Mrs. Evenson, I understand how you're feeling. He could still pull through, but I want you to be prepared." He pushed his hair up with his fingers, stressed. "I want you to know that I wish I could make every single one of my patients better at the snap of my fingers, but that is just not the case."

My lip quivered. "Can I hold him?" I barely whispered.

"Of course." He said, and a nurse brought him to me. He looked a lot bluer that I remembered him. His chest rose and fell in no pattern at all, a desperate attempt to take in air. I wished so much that I could somehow give him my air, that I could transfer it to him. He shivered though he was sweating, so I couldn't tell whether to wrap the blanket around him tighter, or to loosen it. I watched my son dying. Finally, I spoke.

"Russell," I whispered as he coughed. It was much weaker, but there all the same. "You have to do this. You have to do this, for me. You must get better. You are all that I have. You and I – we're family now. We've always been family. You and I, we've been through this all together. Please don't leave, my love. Please, please. Please don't leave me here alone, love." Tears slipped down my cheeks as I wept silently onto him, holding him as close as I could. He _was_ all that I had. My son, the one who all of the strings to my universe were tied to. He couldn't possibly leave. Then we could never run on the land of my old farm where I played, playing hide and seek amongst the hay bales, climbing trees. As a mother, I felt helpless, and so alone that I could barely breathe. I held him so close to me, so my ear was to his chest, my nose to his neck. Inhaling his baby scent.

He fought. He fought for me. But just as the sun was entirely down, not a speck of light on the horizon; then – _Snip, snip_. There were a million little snips, each one for the one thing tethering me to this earth.

The wind. It whipped my hair around like a gale, the mousey brown locks slapping me in the face. The sun shone down on my face, but I felt no warmth. The birds chirped, yet I felt no happiness whatsoever. I stared down at my feet, listening to the sounds of the earth I was no longer tied to. There was nothing holding me to this land. I feared not, what I had chosen. It seemed strangely peaceful as I stood here, pondering whether or not my twenty-six years had been worth it. I was past all feeling now, all that I felt was emptiness. I was just as devoid of life as a demon. The only thing binding me here was myself; my body, from head to toe, was my cell.

My soul was done. It had had enough. My heart was too beaten and bruised and devoid of feeling that I felt nothing at all when I stared forward, seeing nothing. I had made the decision to do this the second that I realized dying of depression would take much more time that I had. I needed to leave now. To be with him again. To hold him in my arms.

_I can almost see his smile again._ I reminded myself as I shied away from the edge. I wasn't afraid. I was only afraid of life without him. It hurt an unexplainable amount to keep living when everything else – every other part of me – had already died.

_I can almost feel your skin, darling. _My mind whispered. He deserved a life. He deserved to breathe, to inhale the air that I had been deprived when Charles choked me against the wall. I could never give him everything.

_I see your tiny little hands again. _

There was pain in my chest, which should not be possible. I had no heart anymore. It was ripped out of my chest, hurled out into space along with my soul. I grappled with the thought that there might be no afterlife for me because I was only a nothing that barely existed anymore. It was worth the try. Anything was worth the try to be with him again.

Taking one last breath that meant nothing to me, trying to gain one last sense of peace before I did this, I smoothed my hands over his previous home, where I'd tried so hard to keep him safe. My stomach. This was my fault.

I took two steps back from the edge, and then walked three.


	7. Beating

Six: Beating

Carlisle

"Are you leaving, Dr. Cullen?" the nurse that usually worked the front desk looked up as I was pulling my coat on. It wasn't a necessary coat, but it was just another one of my props.

"Yes. My shift is over. I'll be back tomorrow." I smiled slightly at her, and I could see right into her eyes; she melted. The nurses stared at me quite often, and often ogled over my so-called handsomeness, but all of my time on Earth had gotten me used to all of it. I was always nice and polite to them, but learned to try and ignore all of the extra attention and focus on my work. But when my shift ended, it discouraged me so, because I could work endless hours while everyone else believed I was exhausted.

"Have a good night, then." The nurse smiled, and only I could catch her fixing her hair. I smiled back, slightly waving.

"The same to you." I rounded the corner to where the back door was. I often left out of this door because when it was dark outside, I could often sneak out and get home sooner. Edward was most likely waiting at home for me; we'd planned a hunting trip for that evening, so I wanted to get home sooner. And then the smell hit my nose immediately.

It was a soft scent, one that even a normal nose could detect as being delightful. It smelled of lilacs and posies in the spring, and the scent that they carried on the wind, mixed with an outdoorsy smell, almost a must, but a good musty smell. I inhaled the scent again. It was nearly exactly the same. _Exactly._ I knew that scent, but it wasn't a recent memory. Possibly years ago. When had I smelled that before?

I turned around immediately, hearing the commotion in the lobby, the squeak of gurney wheels and the yelling, the mumbling, the rustle of equipment. I was there in seconds, but pretended to be out of breath to make it believable that I just ran.

"What is it, Daren?" I asked my colleague, Dr. Navine. He shook his head.

"It must have been at least a fifty to seventy foot drop, Carlisle. _Damn, _I doubt anyone could survive anything like that." he moved aside so I could see the patient. If I had a heart it would have stopped.

Her face was motionless, though I could not see the rest of her body; that was covered with a sheet. I did not _want_ to see what went horribly wrong with her body. Fifty to seventy feet? What in God's name _happened?_

Nearly stuttering, choking on my tongue, I turned to one of the doctors that must have brought her in. He didn't look familiar, so he must have been from a different hospital, or a smaller establishment. "Did you see what happened?"

"I'm afraid not, sir. We found her down on the beach. She left this up on the top of the cliff, we think. Maybe she took it off before she jumped." He handed me a small bracelet that appeared to be cut. I stared at it – it was a hospital bracelet, I recognized it as that, but the name had been gouged out, like they no longer existed. "We also found this." He held up a coat that only could have belonged to her.

I remembered her suddenly. Her frightened, discouraged face as her brother carried her in to me. She had to smudges of dirt on her cheeks, and her nose, and her hair was slightly askew, but that didn't draw the attention from her beauty. As I touched her shoulder, her face immediately lightened and she relaxed, staring at me.

"Let me take a look." I pulled my stethoscope from around my neck, though I didn't need it. I could still hear her heart. Faint, and weak as it was. Dr. Navine put his hand on my shoulder.

"We've already called it, Doctor."

"Dead upon arrival." Another doctor said, almost sadly. "Shall we call the time?"

I looked down at my watch. "Three forty-five a.m. You can put that down." I tried to stay calm, willing her heart to keep going – even that tiny bit. _Keep going, keep going. _I willed her, even though for certain she could not hear me.

"Wheel her around to the morgue." The head doctor said, and I restrained myself, listening to her heart. _It might falter before you get there,_ I told myself. _You may be too late._ I waited a full ten agonizing minutes before I snuck back to the morgue, making sure it was deserted. It was, so I quietly poked my head in, then stepped entirely into the silent little room that smelled of skin and sterile equipment.

"Please be here, please be alive." I begged as I let my nose do the finding. I found that incredible scent, mixed with hundreds of others, standing beside the gray morgue table. There she was. Motionless. Lifeless. Not a twitch of her eyelids, or a flick of her fingers. Her heart-shaped lips were motionless. But I could still hear that faint stutter of the beating of her heart.

Trying to be careful as I pulled her out, as silently as possible, I lay her on the gurney that someone had wheeled her in on, which had not been moved yet. She was a mess – a truly gruesome sight. Her bones were splintered and sticking out of her limbs like jagged rocks; definitely an impact hit. _Fifty to seventy feet, _the other doctor's words wrung themselves out in my head. I had seen many horrible sights in my time, but not this girl. I struggled to find her name. I'd treated so many patients in the past ten years.

Esme Platt.

"Oh, Esme, what have you done to yourself." I remembered how she had been such a happy teenager, we'd gotten on so well with each other. She had sparkling brown eyes that told a story all on their own, gentle little lips that kept talking, so eager to tell me everything, and so willing to engage in conversation with me. Often, the female patients I treated talked so less, but she was so – different. I recalled the moments before I had let her go.

_"Esme, you're such a kind young woman. You must promise me to have a long, fulfilling life. Make something of yourself, I know you're very capable." I smiled, kissing her hand. "You have a great life ahead of you, dear. Make it worthwhile." _

I had never had a conversation such as this with any other patient, but she seemed special, there was something so different about her. She seemed a little surprised, buts he nodded, listening. She was truly interested in what I was saying, unlike some other patients who were only interested in me alone.

_"Thank you, Doctor. I'll make my way in life well." She blushed and smiled. "Thank you."_

"_Not you."_ I groaned, listening to her heart struggling to keep up with the rest of her. They had not even _attempted _to revive her. But, even I knew that sometimes, even a well-trained doctor can only do his best. I dared to touch her face. I could feel the last bit of warmness in her skin. That teenage glow I'd experienced ten years earlier. How I longed to see _that_ girl again, the one that was so young, so beautiful; adolescent. Now she'd chosen this path.

I knew Edward was waiting for me, but there was a tugging in my conscience. _If you do this, she might hate you forever. She wouldn't want this. Let her die in peace. This is what she's chosen. This is what she wanted. She doesn't _want_ to live anymore. _

The other side of my conscience failed to believe that.

_She's too much to waste, too beautiful, too kind. You mustn't waste such a shining soul. This wasn't meant to happen. She was meant to be happy. What if you don't do this? Maybe she made a terrible mistake. Maybe she wants to live. Maybe she slipped!_

_No! She wants to die! Let her!_

The battle continued inside of me, until I finally stopped and listened to her heart again. _Thump… thump… thump…_

I needed to decide. And now. I leaned over her, feeling her ever-so-slight breath against my cheek. Her face was preserved in its beauty, just like she was sixteen again, but it was a little rounder, fuller. She looked just a small bit older. I had to come to a decision. Slowly, I looked around to see if anyone was near. There was no one. I listened down the hallway. There was no shuffle of footsteps. We were alone. Just her and I.

"Just you and me." I whispered so only ears of my kind could hear. Slowly leaning over, I brushed her hair aside from her neck, moving her collar aside. He didn't make a sound as I slowly moved in, inching in centimeter by centimeter. Was this really what I wanted to do?

I found her jugular vein, sinking in my teeth around her neck. She lurched up delicately, opening her mouth as if to gasp, but no sound came out. I sunk my teeth farther, trying to contain myself. I could smell her blood, all over her body, right under my _nose_, I could just start feeding now! I forced myself to pull away, trying to hear her heart desperately. It was faltering. I would have to go back again. I leaned down quickly and sunk my teeth in another time, willing the venom to enter her blood flow, praying so hard that I had decided in time to save her.

Her blood, I tasted it again. It was the sweetest blood that I ever tasted, so sweet that for a moment I didn't think I could restrain myself. The frenzy was starting, just as I had first described it to Edward when he'd first had an accident. I was going to lose her. Desperately, I brought my hand up to her face as she gasped again, making no noise at all, as I tried to hold myself back. Her face flashed before me from nearly a decade ago, so young and full of hope and promise, radiating an innocent warmth that had drawn me to her. I could almost feel her pain.

Answers, I needed answers. What had brought her to this final sacrifice?! How could she do this to herself! Did she even remember her promise to me at all? Her face showed me no expression as I finally let go, willing myself to pull away from her neck. I held onto the fabric on her shoulders, silently crying for her. Why, oh why, had she done this to herself? How could she? She was so beautiful, innocent, full of promise! I was angry at myself, as if this could somehow be my fault. But I had a feeling that she hadn't "fallen" off a cliff.

I knew about suicide, especially after deciding the same fate for myself over and over. How could such a vile, hated creature walk the face of this earth in the body of a man, I had thought. I had become exactly what my father had hated, what my father had wanted to destroy all along. As a child, I always respected him, of course, he _was_ my father. But it was in vain, because he killed many innocent people, some of which I could call my friends. Still, I believed that such hated creatures of my father should not walk this earth. So I tried to end myself, my existence. Yet, it had never worked. Starving myself was never an option, it was nearly impossible for my kind to starve. And the old stake through the heart certainly wouldn't work, though of course, I was willing to try anything back them. But nothing worked. I felt very strongly about suicide, having gone through the motions myself, but I found myself wondering; what were her motives? I needed to know. And I believe that is part of the reason I had just bitten her.

She was silent, as I listened to her heart beat in that morgue, holding so closely to her and crying onto her shoulder. How had she let herself come to such an end. Please, let the venom work. Please, I need to know Esme. I need to know why you broke your promise.

I stared at her broken, mangled body. Could venom even heal these extremities? Was it too late? She was in horrible condition. But I wasn't about to give up. I stroked back her hair, softly talking to her as if she could hear me. "You must have strength. You must." I whispered over and over, listening to her heart beating laboriously, faltering every now and then. But it was going. But also, she was silent.

After a while, I feared that I may have to bite her again. Her scent alone enticed me, and I didn't know if I could possible bear biting her succulent skin again without the monster I had kept caged for so long returning and destroying the beautiful woman. Again, I closed my eyes and leaned over her mangled legs, ceasing my breath.

I bit into her left arm, sinking in my teeth as much as I could, begging for it to be over soon. I was so close to breathing and giving in when I finally pulled away. I did the same to her right arm, feeling the exact same way, each time closer to giving in as I bit up and down her limbs, trying to spread the venom throughout her frail, destroyed body. Wrapping her in the sheet that was previously clean but was now bloody, I carefully conformed her in my arms, feeling her body droop. My other concern was confirmed, her spine was indeed broken. I could tell by the way she flopped and molded to me like she was dough hanging off of my arms. I made sure she was warm, and protected, stealing out of the morgue to the woods where I could carry her home as quickly as I could. _Won't Edward be surprised, _I thought wryly as I flew through the forest, begging her to hold on.

_"Carlisle."_ Edward said the moment I stepped in the door. Of course, he had already seen what I had seen, heard what I had heart – even felt what I had done. Sometimes it was convenient not to have to explain everything to him. It saved time, especially now.

"I'm deeply sorry, Edward." I spoke quickly and quietly, trying not to bump the woman too much as I lay her on the long, narrow couch that was also another one of our props. "If only you could understand."

"Carlisle, this is –" he started, but couldn't finish as I pulled up a chair beside her motionless body.

"Listen to her heart." I said quietly. "She has a fighting chance."

"Carlisle, this is dangerous. Especially after biting her right in the morgue! Carlisle, someone could have seen…" he trailed off again, running his fingers through his hair.

"Trust me Edward, the only ones who might of seen were her other morgue mates."

He sighed, not amused at all, though I didn't mean it to be amusing.

"Please. I just can't explain right this moment." I said quietly to only Edward as I waited for Esme to resurface in agonizing pain.

After the first night, she indeed did. Her eyes darted around as she screamed in agony, howling things that I could not even start to understand. As I listened to her spine _healing_ itself, in amazement, the pain traveled down to her lower body then, now that her nerves were now mended. This made her pain much worse, something that morphine couldn't even help. I did give her some though, hoping that it would help, at least a minute bit, but it didn't seem to. I watched her bones pulling back together like a million tiny threads sewing themselves up on their own, watching them go back into her body and the skin seal over them. She was not writhing in pain as Edward had been, which hinted that the morphine I had administered had worked a little, but as all medicine does, it wore off after numerous hours and she started to scream again. I was desperate just as I was with any other of my patients, trying to make her pain go away, but all I could do was hold her hand as the venom swam through her system, consuming each millimeter of her body slowly, encircling her veins and arteries as her heart rate sped and faltered in the hours I sat with her. I spoke to her in calming tones, trying to appease her in her suffering, but her words of pleading and begging for me to kill her did no help. I attempted to tell her of what she was becoming, how it would work, what I was, but her begging eyes told me that she wasn't listening. Or she was incapable of it. As I listened to her desperate groans and cries, I thought – why _had_ I decided this exactly. My conscience was very clouded in that moment, but I had to have an exact reason. I pondered the idea of changing her because I felt that Edward needed a mothering figure. But then I realized, she had the choice to leave us. There was no guarantee that she would stay with us. If she did, she might even hate me to my rotten, selfish core.

Maybe I was just in a frenzy for that sweet blood I remembered from years ago, and I'd do anything to taste it. But I had every bit of strength to restrain myself. Possibly, I may have bitten her for my own selfish needs. She was beautiful, I had always thought so; she was the only person I had ever really been attracted to for real. Had I changed her for myself?

Cupping my chin in my palm as I leaned my elbow onto my knee, listening to her cry with hot tears streaming down her cheeks, I felt her hand grab my knee. I looked up quickly, staring into her sobbing face.

"Don't leave." She begged, her voice a sorrowful, depressed groan as she arched up again, screaming in agony. Her eyes were wide with fear and agony as she clenched onto my knee with all her might, and I could hear the venom consuming her kidneys. They must have been bleeding internally, because I could literally hear them heal themselves as she screamed, begging for me to make it stop. "DON'T LEAVE!" she screamed and begged simultaneously. "PROMISE!"

"I promise. I won't leave." I pressed my knuckle to my chin, staring at her eyes as they slowly changed. The venom was overcoming her smudgey brown eyes, the red slowly swimming around in them, turning them from brown, then slowly to light orange. By the beginning of the second night, they were an auburn color. I could hear her heartbeat slowly becoming faster and faster, like a tympani drum. _Beat. Beat. Beat beat. Beat beat beat. _I listened for hours until it was a full-on drumroll.

She was silent as she closed her eyes, and I could hear her extremely quick, shallow breaths. Each was quieter than the next, and more shallow and ragged. Suddenly, I could hear her heart speeding up suddenly, and immediately I knew; the venom was reaching her heart. she fought to keep her eyes open, but they stayed closed, and all I could hear were her heartbeat and her breathing. As her heart rate spiked, Edward appeared in the doorway. He must have been listening from downstairs.

_Beat. _

Silence.

Esme

"Don't leave." I reached over to grab the guardian angel's collar to pull him down to me, but I missed drastically and my hand landed on his knee. He looked slightly startled to hear my voice, but he nodded silently. I didn't take that as a yes, so I started to say it again, but another wave of pain came over me. It was the worst pain I had ever felt in all of my existence, like somebody was scalding my lower abdomen with an iron and putting so much pressure on my organs that I could barely speak. I screamed at the top of my lungs and cried, with tears of agony tumbling down my cheeks. "DON'T LEAVE!" it came out a yell. I arched in pain, my shoulders on the soft surface of where I was laying, screaming at the top of my lungs again. "PROMISE!"

He looked even more alarmed, but gently rested his hand over top of mine. Then he said calmly "I promise. I won't leave."

Screaming at the scalding fires of Hell, I stared up at the angel that was guarding me, ceasing to ever leave my side. I had never imagined that it would be _him. _The blonde-haired doctor that had appeared in my dreams after Charles had beaten me. I was going through Hell, but why was there an angel here? Was he guiding me? Or was he just shoving me farther into the burning coal embers? Either way, he was here. After what seemed like weeks on end of howling in pain, I felt something cold on my cheek. It traveled down my neck, to behind my ear. He was comforting me. Like he somehow could understand my suffering.

The pain was growing, too, like the swell of the ocean, but this wave didn't ever go down, it went nowhere but _up. _I felt nauseous with the pain, but my throat was on fire. The fire branched down my neck, and to my limbs, then to my abdomen where the Devil left me to suffer in pain as I felt myself being consumed by his minions. Slowly, the pain resumed burning down my back and hips, to my lower abdomen where I felt like I was being burnt into a crisp. I cried out with agony, but no one seemed to do anything. Satan was making me go through Hell, while I had to look up at the beautiful angel that could have been mine. In every sense, it was agony. But I deserved it. I was the one who wanted to take my own life. Now I was being punished.

**PLEASE, OH, PLEASE GOD! MAKE IT STOP, I WILL DO ANYTHING! MAKE THE FIRE STOP!**

Suddenly, the pain became too overwhelming to make any sound. I felt that I could no longer keep my eyes open, so they closed on their own. The screaming still went on inside my head, but I had no strength or ability to make sound as my heart pulsated with pain, almost like it was the pain _itself._ I could feel it beating faster, faster, faster, like the wings of a hummingbird. Suddenly, I could feel my breath quickening as well. I could no longer tell if my angel was still there, because of my closed eyes, but the pain became so consuming that I could not even concentrate on anything else than that. and then – the pain stopped. The quick heartbeat ceased.

I opened my eyes.


	8. Painless

**Hey, little monsters! I haven't left a note for you guys in a while, so sorry! I honestly keep forgetting to! So, here you go, to you guys who read my story! I would just like to thank you for your reviews, ALL of you! But I have a special shout-out to someone called EsmeAliceRose, you were my very first reviewer, and you've stuck with it every chapter! Thank you so much for your continued support! I hope you all are enjoying the story, because I am enjoying writing it! If you have any suggestions for me, there is a little box down there that says type your review for this chapter here, so it gives you directions anyway! Thanks a lot! **

Seven: Painless

All was still and quiet as I surveyed my surroundings. I was not anywhere that I recognized; I was lying on a couch that didn't seem very soft for some reason, and there was light shining through a closed window. But it was the sun like I'd never seen it before in my life. The pockets of light seemed to be moving, shifting in vibrant, delightful colors, an ever-so-soft orange, yellow, even pink, and there was one color I couldn't even _give_ a name! I stared out into space, realizing that I could pick out each and every dust mote in the air. I stared at every aspect of the room at the same time, the lamp, the dust motes, the light. All at one time, I could see EVERYTHING!

Suddenly, as if just by thinking about it, I was against the wall, flattening myself against it as if camouflaging, and letting out a sound I'd never made out of my mouth. A hiss? It sounded just like my old cat, Frost. But deeper, and more menacing. I crouched – had I ever crouched this way before? – and tried to make myself look small at the threat in the room; the only other being that was sitting in a chair beside me. I let out another hiss – possibly because I was frightened, but it just slipped out.

The intruder was the blonde angel. He was tall, slender but muscular. I could only describe him as looking like a perfect mannequin in a shop window, no imperfections, not a mark or divot. He looked – perfect. And familiar.

"Esme." He spoke. He knew my _name. _But things just weren't adding up. He was my angel, the one who sat with me through my entire trip through the fire. But what was _he_ doing in my Hell? Wasn't he an angel? Why had he accompanied me to the underworld? "It's alright. You must be so frightened. Come and sit beside me." he patted the couch where I had just been. I had no idea how to move, because I was still shocked that all I had to do was think about moving, and in an instant I did. "Come. We have much to discuss. I know you must be very afraid."

I didn't dare move, and decided to stay flattened against the wall. It seemed much safer here, and I didn't have to lift a finger. I didn't even remember how I got here – all I remembered was the burning, the flames, the fire. The pain. I pressed farther back into the wall as if I could somehow melt into it.

"Where am I?"

He cleared his throat, rising slowly to show me that he wasn't going to come too close too fast. He walked small, slow graceful steps towards me, not answering my question.

"Angel?" I called him. He was still nameless to me. He was just angel. "Where am I?"

"I know you're very disoriented. Please, come sit on the couch. I shall explain." He extended his hand to me, but I shied away, not so sure. He seemed to understand, but took a step back. Like he had some reason to be careful around me, like I was an upset snake that would unexpectedly strike.

Suddenly, it all rushed back to me. The broken leg, the dreams, _him._ He must have noticed my expression change, because his did too, to a concerned look.

"I know, you feel overwhelmed. Come, please sit with me." he motioned to the couch, still slowly stepping backwards, away from me. Why was he being so careful? He must be a head bigger than me! And most likely much heavier. "You might feel a bit better."

Yes. I might feel better if I remembered how to move. Luckily, he took my arm gently and pulled me forward. I stumbled on the first step, nearly falling, but I caught myself just in time with another foot forward. Suddenly, I was at the sofa, next to him. The window was not in the sun, though I wished it was, because for some reason I felt cold. He tried to take my hand, but I scooted to the opposite end of the couch. He sighed a drawn out sound but didn't say anything.

"I'm sure you're very confused, frightened. Anxious. I was too. I didn't know what was happening to me either. But we'll just need to take this slow. If you don't remember me – my name is Dr. Carlisle Cullen."

I nearly jumped. His first name! It was even more perfect than I'd imagined! I opened my mouth to speak but a stinging burn in the back of my throat prevented me from talking again. I hadn't noticed the burn before. It felt a bit like a sore throat, which I'd had many times, but it also felt like somebody was lighting a fire back there.

After I didn't answer, he started to talk again. "This may be a lot for you to fathom at the moment, and your memory mayn't be working properly right now. But I was the one to save you, Esme."

Save me? What did I need to be saved from? Again, I opened my mouth, but the burn persisted. Finally, I found the words. "I – I don't remember. Save me from what?"

He spoke very gently and soothingly in his perfect voice that sounded just like hallow old ancient wind chimes. "Esme, I know it's hard to remember. But please try to recall your memories before all of this."

I thought very hard. My brain seemed to work so differently, though! Like it worked so fast I could think of more than ten things at once and keep track of them! But I tried my hardest to remember my final memory before I'd been dragged into Hell.

"I… remember the darkness. And this – impact?" I asked as if it were his memory, not his. He nodded slightly, a piece of his combed-back blonde hair falling onto his forehead.

"Yes, that's correct." He nodded and the small smile left his face. "I believe you meant to die that night, Esme. Do you know why?"

I didn't. All I could really remember was feeling such an empty, nothingness inside of my heart. I still didn't understand why. "My heart hurt so badly."

"Why?" he pushed his hair up with his hands.

I was feeling very frustrated. "I don't _know."_

"I'm so sorry. I know how discouraging this is for you. You don't even remember."

"I thought I was dead." We simultaneously looked at each other, inching our heads around so we're looking directly into each other's eyes. His were just as soft and flaxen as I remembered, preserved in my memory, but it did not make sense for him to look nearly exactly the same as when I'd first met him. The doctor didn't look a second older. "Am I dead, Dr. Cullen?"

He softly sighed, and I heard the air hiss through his teeth perfectly. I had never been able to hear this magnificently before! I could hear the water running downstairs! And I could hear someone else moving too, shuffling. I could even feel the floorboards below slightly shift. And oh, the smell! I could smell so well, I could tell how old the house was by the smell of the materials it was made of!

"I'm sorry, I am taking this so slow. But it takes time to explain, Esme. You were meant to die that night, so I saved you."

"How?"

"The only way I know how. But I'm not entirely certain that you'll appreciate my way of doing." He shook his head, like he was nervous. Why was _he_ nervous?

None of my questions were being answered! Becoming more and more frustrated than I'd ever been in my life, I stared at him, never blinking. As if I might get him to answer. "You said I was not dead. But I know I went through Hell, Doctor."

He sighed, shaking his head again. No answer.

"You were there."

Still no answer.

"You said you would stay with me. I made you promise."

He looked up at me with his knuckle pressed to his top lip like he was thinking. "Yes. I am still here."

"Then why don't you give me answers?"

"I'm not sure you are willing to accept the truth."

"What truth? Dr. Cullen," I sighed, still trying to be polite, "You will not answer one of my questions!" anger boiled up in me. my vision started to slot over to red, and I was suddenly on my feet, in the corner again. How did I possibly get here in the flash of seconds? Faster than even _I_ noticed! It must have been some miracle, but I hissed through my teeth again, flattening myself into the corner.

"Esme, Esme, please." He was suddenly beside me, in the blink of an eye, holding up both of his hands as if in a surrender. "Please, listen to me. I'm trying to help you."

Relying on instinct alone, I lowered my stance, untensing my muscles and letting the air out of my chest. He still seemed inaccurately afraid of me. Carlisle took my wrist gently.

"I don't want to hurt you, that is something I will never do. But if you want answers, you must sit quietly and answer my questions first. I promise, but you must be patient. I know, it hurts, doesn't it. your throat. That is what is making you so angry."

I suddenly remembered the branding burn in the back of my throat, and my hands almost automatically came up to cup my neck. "What is it?"

"Come, I will tell you." He motioned for me to sit again.

"It hurts so bad." I whispered as he led me to the sofa and I lowered myself down. The words came out barely a whimper.

"I know." He said flatly. In a tone that hinted that it would not go away any time soon. "I will start by telling you what I know. I was leaving my shift at the hospital when some out-of-town doctors brought you in to my emergency room. You were so bent, broken. They pronounced you dead. But I could still hear your heart beating, Esme. And I remembered you, from a decade ago, when I mended your broken leg. I knew I had to save you."

"I – I was dead? You said I wasn't." I questioned, then remembering that I had to listen to him before he would give me any answers.

"You weren't." he said flatly.

"If I was not dead – then was I unconscious?"

"Yes. For about a day. Then you resurfaced." He nodded, folding his hands in his lap. "Do you remember?"

"I do." I nodded. This didn't seem very logical, was I dead, or was I not? "I do remember burning pain. But please, explain to me! How _did_ you save me?!" I exclaimed. I could feel the red anger boiling down beneath the surface again, the wild, out-of-control kind that had me flattened against the wall, hissing at the only one who seemed to be able to give me the answers I needed, a moment ago.

"It will be easier for you to see for yourself." He said, inching closer to me, taking my hand. I tried to pull away, still seizing with anger, but he shook his head. "Remember. I will not hurt you." He promised, taking my hand and moving it towards his chest. Then he placed it on the granite-feeling plate of his muscular chest and nodded as if to tell me it was okay. "Tell me, what do you feel?"

Wondering if it was a trick question, I thought about it for a moment. All I felt was his chest under my hand. So I didn't say anything. After a moment, he patiently looked at me again. "What do you hear, then?"

I listened. Trying to hear anything other than the world around me that I could suddenly hear every bit of. But there was something there that I detected. Actually, it was something that was not there.

"Carlisle, you – your heart!"

"Yes, Esme. Now, feel your own."

I placed my hand on my chest where my heart was. I started to panic and boil with anger again at what I didn't feel.

"Carlisle, what's going on? What's happened to me?!" I exclaimed, my eyes darting around anxiously. "Explain, please!"

"Shhh," he soothed. "Take in a breath for me."

I did as I was told. It seemed like I could take endless breath and never need to breathe out again!

"Now hold your breath." He said, and I narrowed my eyes, trying to grasp the idea of what he wanted me to see. Feeling silly, I held my breath. And held it some more. And some more.

"Have you noticed that you don't need to breathe essentially?" he cocked his head slightly.

Angrier than I had been, even before, my machine-like mind could come up with no explanations!

"Dr. Cullen – _am I even me anymore?" _My mind, my reflexes, my voice… none of them seemed my own.

"Yes, and no, Esme. Please, don't get angry." He reached for my hand again, and this time I let him take it. Like a stray dog to a stranger offering food with an outstretched hand. "That's the last thing you want – to get angry. I promised you, didn't I? This will all make sense in a little while."

"_Who is this person? This isn't me! I don't even remember how I got here!" _I exclaimed in exasperation, as we were getting nowhere. "What _am_ I? I have no heartbeat whatsoever. I don't feel the need to breathe, and there is this – horrible burn in my throat. Please, tell me. If I am not dead – how can I possibly be alive?"

"Come, Esme." He took my hand and stood up. Once again, all I did was think about moving to get up, and I was suddenly on my feet, barely an effort. "I must show you something. This way," he coaxed me down a hallway, and into an room with only a bureau and a large mirror gilded in aged bronze stood against the farthest wall. The only other object in the room was a beautiful piano.

"What is this room?" I asked, picking out patterns in the dust motes as he led me to the mirror by the arm.

"This is my son Edward's room." he smiled slightly. "He is here, as well. You can meet him soon."

"Oh." I nodded, listening to the sound of my voice that didn't even seem mine. It was the exact sound of beautiful, expensive crystals tinkling on the edge of a wine glass, the sound of the thought of loving somebody, or something so dearly, if that even had a sound. But if it did, it would be my voice.

Dr. Cullen led me in front of the mirror where I jumped back to the opposite corner of the room in fright. Who had been that person staring back at me?! I'd never seen a mirror as such! Frightened at the sight of the being that had stared back at me in the mirror, I held myself against the wall again, staring at Carlisle's understanding, compassionate face.

"Esme, I know… it's a bit shocking." He said, his voice layered with understanding, and he was by my side like he had been there all along. "Please, come look again."

"Please," I held my arm over my face, as if to make it so he couldn't see me. "Don't make me look in that mirror again."

"Trust me." I lowered my arm to see his hand extended again, and with a shaking frame, I took it and allowed him to lead me back to where I stood only moments ago. I could not help jumping again at the reflection. Who was this? How had I gotten in her body?

He cleared his throat. "This is _you_, Esme."

"No… this couldn't possibly be me." I shook my head in disbelief, raising my hand to see if she copied me. She did, down to every detail. I stared back at her. This woman had bare legs and feet, but her dress was blue and made of a soft fabric, fitting to each contour of her body perfectly. I never had such a dress, I could never have afforded one. My skin was pale and fair, not a spot nor blemish, much like Dr. Cullen's. My hair that had once been comparable to a mouse's coat was now a breathtaking caramel color and hung in large ringlets over my shoulders, falling perfectly even in its slight messiness. I no longer seemed stalkish, but I was slender and evened out around the curves. Being more of a tomboy as a child, I never paid close attention to my looks, though I never paid attention to looking my best. I would most likely always get dirty anyway. But I knew, though I didn't mind, that I was nothing but an average looking woman. But now, I was just so… breathtakingly exotic. I opened my mouth to see my teeth. Each crooked tooth had been sculpted to look perfect, my smile was so bright and white that I had to stare at their perfection.

I gasped, throwing my pale, small hand over my new lips that were more heart-shaped than anything. "Doctor – my eyes, they are so – they are so – red! My eyes, they are blood red!" I grabbed his arm as he was suddenly there again, by my side just as he'd promised.

He turned me around to look at him, a calm expression on his face like this was entirely normal. But his eyes were _**NOT**_the same as mine. They were exactly the opposite!

"They're red. Oh, God, my eyes are _**blood**_red." I spoke into my hands. Now I was sure I was a demon, this was just Hell.

"Esme, this is normal. Your eyes are red, yes, but not because you are evil." He said, just as though he'd read my thoughts. "They are red because of your leftover human blood."

Human blood? What kind of blood did I have now, animal blood? "Doctor, explain, please!"

"I know you're frightened. But as I told you, I cannot tell you all at once –"

I cut him off. "You must tell me now!" I could feel the anger threatening to bubble over onto the floor, seep into the floorboards, and burn straight through the ceiling into the next level, pouring out into the ground and flowing straight to the center of the Earth. It was drastic, yes, but I was thinking any way but rationally. "I have no heartbeat, I feel no need to breathe, I am in _no_ way myself, and my eyes are _red! __**RED!" **_I screamed at him. "And my throat is hurting so bad that I feel like I need to rip everything apart! What have you done to me, because I assure you, you were not helping me!"

He looked slightly hurt, but he put me before himself, taking my arm as firmly but gently as he could. I pulled away with all my might, and to my great surprise, he went flying across the room into the wall. I put my hand over my mouth, letting out a gasp. He seemed a little frightened at me, but not appalled, and he was beside me again. My head was in my hands.

"How on earth did I do that…" I hung my head, feeling my glossy new locks fall over my hands.

"I will explain." He said, and I leaned into him as if I needed the support. He stood there for a long time, letting my lean my forehead on his shoulder, not even breathing. "It's going to be alright." He spoke softly. "I'm not just going to let you go through this on your own."

"Go through what… oh, please tell me. I just want to know." I whispered. I just wanted my old self back. Even if that self was average and plain, it didn't have a nearly intolerable burn in the back of its throat, or a mind working at a million miles per hour, or a thousand questions.

To my surprise, I felt him gently stroke my hair. Carefully, ever-so-slowly, as if to not startle me, his large, pale hand came up to my ear, mildly tucking the now caramel strands behind my ear. I could even sense how much he cared about me at that moment, that he was going to tell me everything, even if it wasn't going to be okay. I let him lead me to the only window in the room, where the shade was down.

"Close your eyes." He instructed, still holding tightly onto my wrist as if he thought I was going to try and make an escape through the window. I could tell we were on the second story! How on earth could I make the plunge without breaking my bones? Still, I listened to him, closing my eyes. I had the feeling that he wouldn't be the type to push me out the window.

Suddenly, I could feel the warmth of the sun on my cheeks, warmer than I remembered. But it wasn't hot. It was a glowing warmth, and it didn't bother me at all.

"Open your eyes, Esme." He said, and I obeyed, immediately gawking at him. Each tiny faucet of light on his skin shone with such vibrancy, like a crystal cove of diamonds; the most magnificent thing I'd ever seen. His skin was glistening and twinkling so eerily like every human being had been like that all along. It was so mesmerizing to watch that I felt my mouth hang open at his extreme beauty and the glistening diamond faucets were flickering like tiny little lanterns, but much softer and even more beautiful.

"You're – you're so beautiful." I spoke, nearly breathless as he smiled slightly, such a caring, tender mien.

"You're beautiful too, Esme." He took my hand and guided it gently to the beams of sunlight. My other hand went over my mouth as I stared at the sparkling pockets of light wherever the rays touched my skin. "You're striking."

I pulled my hand away from the light coming in through the window, hiding in the shadows again. "NO, this isn't right." I put my head in my hands once again, trying to cry. But no tears came out whatsoever. Like I was dry. But the dry sobs came all the same, but hurt my throat even more. Whatever I was, Carlisle was as well. Why were my eyes red?

"I need to know, _now, _Carlisle!" the anger was back, the water level rising so high that I felt like I was going to boil over, or melt on the floor in a red, steaming puddle.

He took a deep breath. "You might have guessed by now that I am tearing myself apart. It was not an easy thing what I did to you." His face was so pained as he took me by the shoulders, turning me to face him. "I did the only thing that I could do to save you. I changed you."

Changed me? What in God's name… "What did you change me to?"

"Esme, you're not human anymore." He looked me straight in the eyes as I stared up at him like an expectant child. "You have advanced speed, and unimaginable strength. Your senses, they are enhanced beyond proportion. Your vision – you can see things you have never seen before. When I said I saved your life, I also ended it. You're a vampire."

_A vampire!_ I almost felt like laughing in his face, but it felt so inappropriate for the moment. But it was so ridiculous! A vampire; a bloodsucking demon that preyed upon innocent human beings. That certainly didn't sound like me. And they _most_ certainly didn't exist.

"A vampire?" I didn't even try to cover the sarcastic nature to my tone. I remembered a little bit form Dracula. Immediately, images of fangs, coffins, and blood popped into my mind.

"Please take me seriously." He was losing patience, but concealed it well.

"I'm sorry… Oh, Carlisle – my throat hurts _so_ bad. Could I please have something to drink?" I begged, my hands clenching into fists as I tried to contain myself at the parched feeling.

"Yes, that is what you need the most right now. A drink. But what do you crave? Water?" he cocked his head and raised his perfect light eyebrows.

I thought about it for a moment. I felt no need for water. In fact, the more that I thought about it, the more and more I realized that water didn't sound like it would quench my thirst at all. I looked to Carlisle for help, a desperate look upon my face, I'm sure.

"Esme… I would not lie to you. Come with me, and I will show you how your instincts take over. So you can hunt."

"Hunt? Hunt _what, _Dr. Cullen?"

"Your instincts will take over. You will see then. You will understand."


	9. Fairies

**Hello, lil' readers! Well… if some of you have actually been waiting for my new chapter, here it is! I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it for you… please read and review!**

Eight: Fairies

Carlisle

It did not surprise me one bit that Esme immediately let her pure instinct overtake her logical mind, leaping into the forest, making her first kill at the scent of blood. Startled at what she had done, she gasped at the body of the slack doe in her arms, looking up to me for an explanation. I kneeled beside her so I was at her level; she was swan-style in the brush of the woods, graceful even in her first darkest hour, and the still-warm body was laying over her lap with a limp neck on her knee.

"I told you, your instincts." I nodded, trying to tell it to her as straight as possible. After she seemed to understand, I was able to reason with her more. I kept close by to her though, in case the call of blood was too strong. She seemed a little less distracted when she had drunken, and could focus on my words more. I told Esme about what my kind, now our kind. All about her red eyes, and my gold eyes. How I had chosen the lifestyle that I had, my struggle with suicide. She seemed fascinated, hearing about how I had come to this life, how I had lived through so much history. And she was particularly interested in Edward as well, when I told her of how I changed him to save his life, as well as hers. She was still very uncomfortable with me; she walked as far away from my side as she could without being rude.

"So… Dr. Cullen…" she said quietly, a hint of a question in her tinkling bell voice. It seemed that her sweet blood scent had transferred itself to her voice, and her soft caramel-brown curls. I'd never seen another woman so beautiful, and she made for an intriguing immortal. I scolded myself for thinking so. I couldn't think about her that way. She was here because of what I had done to her, and she was free to go. I was just helping her, saving as many lives as I could.

"Carlisle." I corrected her. "You can use my first name."

"Oh…" she nodded as the moonlight shone on her face. I'd noticed that, with our kind, instead of sparkling, in the moon light, we sort of glowed. She looked even more beautiful against the light of the full moon. "So, I was about to ask… what about other things… like – werewolves, demons, things like that. Do they exist?"

I slightly chuckled. "There are no such things as elves and fairies as far as I know of, if that is what you mean."

"Oh." She nodded, fascinated that she was learning something new. She'd told me to tell her everything, so I did. I told her of my transformation, how I'd ended up here. She listened to every bit – she genuinely cared about what I had to say, and I cared for what she had to say. Talking to her was just as easy as breathing. "Carlisle… when will I become tired?"

"That is another thing. You won't. You don't have the ability to sleep again."

She stared at me, fascinated, her wide bright red eyes filled with wonder. "So I could keep going _forever?"_

"I suppose. If you wished to." _Sometimes it would be nice to sleep, though._ I added silently as we walked slowly through the brush. We had a _lot_ to discuss. Wondering what I had done to earn her trust so quickly, she was darting off into the darkness again, so quick that I could not catch her. I ran after her, as fast as I could, but with her newborn speed, she was much stronger. I found her by a small stream, draining a doe. The syrupy blood dripped down her chin, drizzling onto her blue dress that I had dressed her in after changing her out of her destroyed, bloody clothes. I hated the fact that I had seen her body, and I didn't even know her, but she couldn't possibly wake up in her ripped and stained clothes, and I told myself that it was simply just my doctor side. But I could still not help imagining what she looked like.

"I'm – I'm sorry." She hung her head sadly over the bent neck of the drained deer. Her teeth where stained, as were her lips, and up to her elbows were covered in blood splatters. "How long… how long will I be like this."

I kneeled beside her, once again. "A year, at the least. Your bloodlust will be very strong. But Edward and I will help you." I led her to the stream and helped her wash off her face and hands. There wasn't much I could do about the destroyed dress, but we could easily sneak back into the house without a human soul seeing us.

"So… you call people like me newborns?" she asked half-heartedly wiping her wet hands on her already-ruined dress.

"Yes. Because you're just like a baby, I suppose. Because of the lack of control, and the human blood still coursing through your body. If you were to continue drinking humans, your eyes would stay red as well. But if you keep drinking animals, they will slowly turn gold. Like mine." I explained. Her expression sank.

"It seems as though there is much for me to learn." She tried to smile, but I could tell that it was a smile of dismay. But at least I could tell she wasn't boiling angry – feeding must have helped her with that aspect.

The next few days, I talked to Esme on what to expect while she was maturing as a newborn. What would be acceptable, and what would not. I did not lay down many rules, because I did not want her to feel at all like I was keeping her prisoner. She listened, though, but always had that sorrowful, estranged look on her face. Why was she so full of sadness? What on earth made that look on her face so drained? But I did know that she willingly accepted this new life after I explained. Edward helped much, because he could always tell me what she was thinking, of course, but I told him to keep his gifts a secret from her. I hated to keep secrets, but I wanted nothing to do with her private life, the only thing she had left that seemed to be still hers. Her thoughts. But I told Edward not to tell me any of what went on in her head unless it involved hurting others, which none did. In fact, she was such a kind being. Even in this form, she felt no need to hurt anything. Even the animals that she brought down on her animalic instinct, she felt bad about. Then again, I had an idea of how strong her human bloodlust was. But it was lucky that we hadn't run into any problems. Yet.

Thankfully, the home that Edward and I lived in was secluded in the woods, far away from humans, because this new plan involved keeping Esme away from them as long as needed. But we hunted often, to satisfy her seemingly unkillable thirst. Day in and day out, her throat would be burning, and she would be in pain, meeting me at the door every night begging to hunt again. I remembered a time when Edward was the same, and felt pity for her. Something about her, also, made me want to satisfy her every need. But I could not teach her everything.

So, Edward taught her most things during the day. The more "recreational" things that we did, such as tracking, and hunting larger game. Edward seemed to enjoy being with her, as if she were his new friend.

The weeks went by quickly, and Esme seemed almost beholden to be with Edward and I. She was very accepting, but each time I looked her in the eyes, hers would quickly dart away and I could sense her embarrassment. What was it about me that made her so nervous? She seemed to trust me. And I thought I had made a point to let her know that I would never intentionally hurt her. She knew that. But thinking about this made me think about her past.

The thoughts consumed me. What had happened to her? Though I could still not collect myself enough to figure out why I had saved her, whether for her benefit or my own, her motives in her human life blinded me from any other thoughts. For the time being, any recollection of her human life had been blocked out of her mind since the transformation. I had seen it many times before. People who had near death experiences, and just before they die, their brain blocked it out before they had a say. Maybe her life was so traumatic that her mind blocked it out as the venom coursed through her body. Had the pain of the transformation blocked it out of her? Who was she was a human? Did she have family? Was she married? Were her children looking for her? Finally, I knew that I must find out before the not-knowing gnawed right through me.

I had easy access to patients' records, being a highly respected doctor, and no one questioned it when I took out her file. First I searched under Esme Platt, which was the only name I knew her by. If she was married, I didn't know her last name. But I had a feeling that the scratched-out hospital band they'd found at the top of the cliff was hers, I just knew. But I still could not read what it said.

Finally, after laborious efforts, I found a file under a woman named Esme Evenson, which happened to be her name. I read the information with the interest of an enthusiast reading a new novel by his favorite author, letting the information sink in.

There was very vague information – like she had tried to erase herself from somewhere. I recognized the slight traces of it, because Edward and I had always had to try and cover our presences in a town when we left. It appeared that she had tried to do the same thing, from whom, I hadn't the slightest clue. But her records did say that she was a war widow, and her address indicated that she lived close by. This made sense. I nodded to myself as I read the vague information.

Her husband was a man named Charles, but there was little information about him. He must have been her husband that died in the war. Had she attempted suicide because of her husband's death? But no, that would not make sense. The war had ended much before she had jumped. Within a year and a half after.

Her records indicated that she had one child. Only weeks ago. This made much more sense to me, because he died two days after the birth. The spark of overwhelming sadness. That though she had decided to block it out for now, why she seemed so upset and full of grief. She'd been found about a day and a half later. It was no wonder that she had blocked out her human memories. She had already let them go when she jumped off the cliff. Slowly, I bowed my head in respect for the dead child.

Since the baby's death certificate was in the records, but no record of a funeral, or even I burial, it dawned on me that it was still here in the hospital. I knew that I had to take care of it. I had to destroy all traces of her, any clue to her trail. Everyone had to forget that Esme Evenson ever existed. I found him in the morgue, wrapping him in a sheet, with all of the papers with a trace of her on them tucked away in my bag. I would take care of them later, but I had to burry any other evidence.

Taking the rest of the day off, I carried the little fellow down to a little secluded spot of tall grasses and wild lavender near the trees just off of the large property that belonged to us, a soft place where he could rest his head forever. He was slightly blue, his tiny little eyelids closed forever, but I could see that he looked just like her. Her nose in a smaller version, her soft little lips, and even her dimples. Digging a small hole with my hands because I had not known I would need a shovel, I buried him in the sheet, marking his grave with a pretty sandstone rock. I promised myself that I would get a tombstone, because the baby of Esme deserved much more. I knew, though it slightly disturbed me, that I would be able to find this burial spot from the distinct scent.

It pained me to bury him – knowing that he was probably the reason that she had tried to end her life. The reason that she felt she no longer needed to live. Bowing my head for him, I prayed that he was no longer in pain, that he was in a better place. That he would someday, somehow forgive me.

Walking slowly away from his new grave, his final resting place, the sun reflected off of my face, creating faucets of light in this dark hour. The baby must have liked to see the dazzling façade, concealing what I really was. The monster that was truly me, the one to take his mother away from him again. I gritted my jaw and hung my head on my way back to the house, meeting Edward in the doorway.

"You're home early." He observed as I took off my unnecessary coat, hanging it on the hall tree. "Did something happen?"

_Taking care of some things with Esme's hospital records._ I said, though I knew he already knew. This was one of the times that I was very grateful that he could, indeed, read my thoughts. I just could not say such things out loud with her around the house. "Where is Esme?"

"She's in the garden." He eyed my bag, understanding that the documents were there. I had planted the garden to keep up human visits. I gave most of them away to my colleagues, some away to usual patients.

I patted Edward's shoulder as I flew up the stairs, opening the closet that belonged to me. There was a secret compartment in one of the floorboards that was used to hide money and valuables from burglars, so I lifted up the floorboard and slipped each of the documents in slowly, thinking of how she had chosen to block all of this past life out. Wondering if any of it would trigger her to remember. I remembered working with many patients in my lifetime with post-traumatic stress that had blocked out everything whatsoever accept the present. Then something triggered them to remember, and when they did, it usually was never a happy sight. Though the venom had proved able to save her body, I had to take the emotion side of her into account. It would most likely be anything but easy to repair after she remembered. And I wanted to spare her pain. I hid the documents here for another date. I knew that it would be too much for her as a newborn. It wasn't exactly fair for me to keep her away from her own memories. But pain might induce her bloodlust. That was the last thing I wanted to happen.

I found myself trailing out to the garden. Most likely because Edward had said _she_ was there. Wherever Esme was, I felt that I needed to be there as well. I couldn't fight the need to be with her. Maybe it was the drawl from creator to creation, or maybe I was just going mad, but something about her, I was attracted to. Possibly because her blood had appealed to me so much, and I felt the need to be close to her. But there I was, standing before her.

She looked like a delicate little fairy, perching on the stone bench with a fragile bluebell in between her thumb and index finger as she twirled it slightly, as if she were studying its beauty. Her hair was braided in the back, but so it was tied off at the start of her neck so some of her curls still bounced on her back. A stray piece of the delicate caramel hair had come out of the front and was hanging in her face, but she didn't seem to notice. She looked even more like a garden fay because her feet were bare and tucked under her in the swan position, and her pale pink colored dress was flowing over her perfect, pale legs. Her lips matched the color of the conch colored dress, and her delicate eyebrows slightly moved as she smiled. The only thing that did not seem to go with the attire were the red eyes that looked too demonic for such a creature.

"Hello, Carlisle." She spoke, her voice as dainty as glass wind chimes, making the most minute of tinkling noises as the wind shuffled them around.

"Hello." I took my hat off, holding it in one hand as I stared at her beauty.

"You're home early." She observed as she tossed the bluebell aside casually, watching it fall into the small little pond that bubbled in the middle of the flower portion of the garden. I had never really cared much for the garden besides tending to it quickly, as needed, but she spent hours of her spare time out here, and if I should say so myself, it looked even more beautiful under her care.

"Yes." I nodded, unable to find the words to say. Her and I were often awkward when we tried to converse. I stood there like a dumb fool, wondering whether I should say something to break the uncomfortable silence. I noticed that there was room to sit beside her, so I stepped closer. She looked up.

"May I?" I asked, motioning to the vacant spot. She seemed to consider for a moment, but she concealed it by tucking another flower in her already flowery hair.

"If you wish." She replied slowly, that scared incompetentness in her tone. I perched just on the edge of the seat, as far away as I could sit from her while still beside her.

"Carlisle…" she breathed a sigh as the birds chirped in the surrounding trees about. I could distinguish where each one of them were, which other of their kind they were calling to. But I could not even tell where her beautiful tone came from. "Did you forget your life when you were changed?"

I twisted my torso to the left so I could see her. "What do you mean, Esme?"

"I remember nothing up to the point of waking with you by my side. Of course, I know my name is Esme, and that I had the – accident." She said with edge. That was what I referred to what had happened to her, the accident. I could not possibly come out and say "when you jumped off the cliff". She had no recollection of it at all, and I wanted to keep it that way for now. Something may trigger her memories in the future, but I did not want it to be something that hurt her so. "Did you forget everything when you woke? Did you know nothing about your life beforehand?"

"It's been quite some time since my transformation. But I do know that I had little recollection of what had happened. It was only weeks later that I realized my past."

"Yes, but Carlisle, it has been three weeks." She said, discourage in her voice as she ground her teeth. "I am beginning to wonder if this is normal." Frustration leaked in her voice that was so unexplainably sad.

"Esme, you must understand. I have only ever changed Edward, and then you. Everybody could be entirely different. Please don't get upset. I'm almost certain that this is not permanent."

She let all of the air out of her, ceasing breath for a moment. "It's hard not knowing. Who I was… if that person could still exist inside of me. Why I am filled with this overwhelming sadness when all I want to feel is joy. When I try to feel happiness, this dam of horrible depression shades on me. It is hard not to know why." She looked towards me, and I could see her eyes had pricked. She could not cry genuine tears, but she was still weeping softly.

"I know that I cannot possibly feel what you are feeling right now. But you need to understand, Edward and I – we are not going anywhere." I put my hand on her arm, but I could feel her frame stiffen. Trying to pull away. Uncomfortable. I raised my hands as if in surrender. "I don't know if you are up for it, but would you enjoy going on a walk with me?"

She nodded after a moment of contemplating, and I she allowed me to take hold of her arm. Just in case an accident started to happen. It was beginning to get dark as I led her though the woods, and slowly, her hand slipped out of mine. Embarrassed, I pretended to wipe my hand off on my knee, but she caught them there again.

"I'll hold your hand." She spoke in a near whisper. "It is a bit hard to when you're gripping my wrist."

"I'm sorry." I was even more embarrassed, though she brushed it off with a slight smile.

"Isn't it beautiful tonight?" she said as I tried not to hold too tightly onto her hand. "One of the things I've enjoyed most about this new life. That I can see so many colors, so _clear!_ It's remarkable. I see so many things that I could never see before!"

I smiled at her joy as she ran her fingers over the soft moss on an ancient tree. "It is brilliant, isn't it?"

"Oh, very." She did a little excited skip. "That is why I enjoy your garden so much, I think. I have never viewed colors in such vibrancy, such beauty." She looked up at me with the lock of hair that had come loose from the braid hanging in one of her eyes that was an orange-brown color. I believe that was the only thing that she hated about her new self; the red eyes. I heard her upstairs many times, just staring at herself in the mirror, in awe of what the venom had done.

"You can plant whichever kinds of flowers in it that you like. I would enjoy your input. I'm afraid that I am a bit out of the loop when it comes to flower gardens. After all, Edward and I have been two bachelors living together for quite some time now. It isn't often that you see a man holding a basket of flowers in the middle of the street, trying to decide whether he should go back and buy more yellow flowers instead of purple."

Her face lit up as she grinned, most likely imagining Edward and I planting the garden. Actually, I had talked Edward into doing most of it, but I had my work at the hospital. He'd grumbled quite enough, but had agreed to the deal that he didn't have to have anything to do with it after the planting. I had chuckled to myself the rest of the day, imaging Edward, completely embarrassed with the delicate flowers in his hands, even though our house was secluded, even more so, he was in the back yard.

"Thank you, Carlisle. But – when will I be able to leave the house? I mean – other than for hunting."

"Soon. I have a plan for you. I will teach you just as I taught Edward when he was at your status."

The next day was a Saturday, so I took her for a walk into the small green of the town. Actually, not even on the green, in the surrounding woods. She clung to my arm, her pupils darting around at every scent, the new sweet smells of human blood. Every time she smelled a particularly taunting smell, I held her hand tighter, supporting her. After a few weeks of doing this, I took her for walks in the actual courtyard green. She clung to me still, but she was learning. Every time I took her, she would rely on me less and less. Until she could let go of my hand and walk on her own, using the control I had taught her to execute. She seemed to like the feeling of control very much, and being independent seemed to be her forte.

Next, I took her to town, holding onto her tight as she caught so many scents. A few times, she did not believe that she had the strength to restrain herself and we would have to return home as quickly as possible until she regained control. Soon, Esme was able to walk by my side in town without holding my hand. Next, I gave her simple tasks, such as going into a shop to buy things, like thimbles and thread, or mouse traps. I was so incredibly proud of her that I could not contain my smiles around her. It was like her smile was a dangerous disease.

Edward seemed to notice as he sat down beside me one evening. I was finishing my last charts of the day when I felt him smirk beside me.

"What?" I turned to look at him. He was, in fact, laughing at something that I certainly did not get.

"Nothing. I'm just laughing at you."

"Why?" I raised my brows, giving him a quizzical expression. He leered again, running his fingers backwards through his already tossled hair.

"Your thoughts are so… well, they're so obvious."

"What do you mean?" I stared at him deeper, as if I could burn a hole right through his pupils. I was even more confused.

"Carlisle, honestly… if I didn't really know what you were thinking, your thoughts would be written on your forehead, clear as day." He flopped onto the couch, holding a magazine above his face as if he were reading, but I knew he was really mocking me, for whatever reason that was. Each time I thought I'd started to understand Edward; I realized that I had failed miserably.

"I have no idea what you're talking about, I'm very busy, Edward, I don't have time for –"

"No, no!" he laughed, tossing the magazine aside. "Just give me a second!"

"I believe I've given you multiple seconds." I said in a stern tone, though I could feel the tug of a smile on my lips.

"No, really, I'm being serious now." contemplativeness leaked into his tone as his eyebrows lowered. "Will you listen?"

I nodded, though I was fingering the chart of one of my charts, picking it up off the coffee table. I didn't want to be impolite and tell Edward that I was nearly uninterested in what he had to say. "I'm listening."

"No, you aren't." he snatched the small stack of papers from my hand. Thankfully, they didn't rip, but I was too slow to grab them back. Although Edward was a mature vampire, he still had the most minute bit of newborn strength left in him. He was still stronger, and of course, faster. At least for the time being. But I had the feeling that he had always been fast.

"Edward!" I exclaimed before he returned it to my waiting hand. "Why don't you go see what Esme's doing…"

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about." He smirked again, leaning back against the cushions again, mussing his hair in the back. "Esme…"

I ceased what I was doing immediately, freezing entirely. "What does she have to do with your smug grins, over there…"

He grinned, as if it was his cue. "Your thoughts… they've just been so entertaining lately."

"Edward, do you mean…" I shuddered.

"No, of course, not _that_ kind of thoughts, heavens no… but I think it's kind of giddy how your thoughts always bounce to her."

I waved my hand at him. "Continue."

"Well, whenever you're doing things… like this, for instance." He motioned to my papers cluttering the coffee table. Another thing just for show – we never drank coffee. "Your thoughts, they ricochet off of the others, and I get flashes of Esme." he leaned in closer, talking quietly to make sure that we were the only two in on the conversation. "Like you can't keep your mind off of her. Oh, you do try though, I'll tell you that. Usually, you'll shake it off."

"What do you mean, Edward… of course I think of Esme, but it's only out of concern! She's still a newborn, what are you to expect?" It was ridiculous that he'd made such assumptions. _Had _he made that indication?

"I'm not saying anything, Carlisle. But I do know that the thought of her makes you happy." He smirked again, enjoying my embarrassment and discomfort.

"Of course it does. She's – kind… and genuinely cares about what you have to say… and she has the most lovely voice that always makes whomever is listening – alright, I'm talking to myself now." I slightly bumped Edward in the shoulder, going back to my work with my head cast downward. Edward just smiled, burying his nose in the magazine again, pretending not to bask in his victory.

**So… better things will be coming next chapter! Ps, I would like to tell some of you reviewers, you have some mega awesome screennames… Please review, it is right below this little bolded note… just be awesome that way. If you review this chapter, I will mention you in my next note at the top of my latest chapter… you guys just rock!**


	10. Nevermore

**I have no words for how sorry I am that I have not updated in SO long. I've been busy with school, and to top it off, this week was homecoming week, and I'm on student council, so BLAH. Anyway, I would like to thank you for all your reviews. Specifically: EsmeAliceRose, RainbowTeeth8 (**** hi, sis!), ShinyVampireApples7, axlreece13, MyPastLife, Just4Me, Smirk Smitten (**** hi, buddy!), and lastly, someone who was a guest that reviewed. Thanks a lot for the nice comments. Here is the next chapter! I know it took me a while, but I apologize, and hope the next chapter is quicker! 3 **

Nine: Nevermore

Esme

My new life with Carlisle and Edward was better than I first believed it would be. I sought out reasons to accept my new life, gathering them in my head like the reveries of distant places I just could not seem to remember. Carlisle said that I most likely could have hit my head when the accident happened, whatever that had been. He and Edward were very guarded about what they let me know; always hesitating as if measuring what to say to me. Like they did not want to hurt my feelings by saying something they regretted. But I let it go, awkward as it was.

Once I gained my control, I began to feel a bit more independent. But there was always a part of me that felt so boxed in. I could not go anywhere without thinking about who I was before I had been turned into this. Why had I chosen to blocked it all out?

The confusion never got better until one day when I was cleaning out the two back bedrooms. One of which was the room that belonged to Edward, the one with the gilded mirror that Carlisle had first showed me my reflection. I still often walked by slowly to make sure it was still me. The other was a room that I barely entered; Carlisle's room. He seemed so private and choosey about the things he decided to tell me, so I respected his privacy and did not go rifling through his things. Though today was not the case.

I'd only ever been in the room once, and that was to close the windows that Carlisle had left open. I often heard them squeak open, periodically every night. It gave me reason to believe that he needed fresh air to concentrate. I almost could hear him concentrating he worked so hard. But I could smell and feel that rain was coming, so I went to close his windows.

As I easily yanked them shut, I realized how cluttered and untidy the room was. A tie was draped over a chair, his coat was strewn across the unused bed spread that he of course had no reason for. Dust lined the window sill, and I could smell the slight must of moth balls in the closet that he probably barely touched. Having already finished tidying Edward's room, I took the liberty to straighten the papers on his desk and hang up the clothes that were strewn about the room. He seemed so organized most of the time, and his room surprised me with its unkemptness.

Hanging his coat in his closet, I caught the smell of moth balls again, but also the slightly smell of cleaning supplies and sterile wipes. Almost like brown rubbing alcohol, but it was such a slight scent that I barely caught it. I smelled harder, crouching down on my heels, letting the hem of my dress fall over my knees. The smell was stronger as I pressed my nose to the floor. I realized that there was a cut in the floorboards like there might be some secret compartment. Suddenly feeling like I shouldn't be here, that I should not have found this, I looked at the door. No one was there, and both Carlisle and Edward were gone. My curiosity got the better of me.

Easily prying the floorboards loose, I discovered a packet of papers carefully rolled up and placed in the hole. They emulated a smell of medical alcohol and cotton swabs, just as I smelled before. Carefully and cautiously unrolling them as if the certificate to the end of the world may be in my hands, I read the first words on the paper.

Wait a moment. This was my name. Esme. And two names following it. Anne and Evenson. It took me a moment to put two and two together, Esme Anne Evenson. Suddenly I remembered – that was _my_ name! I had a full name!

Yes. That _was_ my name. Suddenly I dropped the roll of papers.

_**BAM!**_

Carlisle

I had just gotten out of work and was driving home. It was later at night, the times that were mandatory for me to leave the hospital as to avoid the sun. It was a particularly chilly night, breath frozen in the air each time a being breathed out heavily. I had a bit of fun watching my already-freezing breath crystallize in the air and fall to the sidewalk in a splatter.

Things were getting better with Esme. She was not so much a newborn anymore, she was more of a mature vampire. I felt a small burning in my sense of pride, because in some way, I was proud that I had taken a part in creating her. I had felt the same guilty pleasure with Edward when he had made the change from ravenous newborn to a mature being.

I drove slowly down the driveway, happy to enjoy the cold night, a strange joyfulness overcoming my sense of feeling. Edward was hunting, and Esme and I would be the only ones home tonight. Awkward as the evenings as such were, we eventually started up a conversation. They usually ended abruptly and with a lot of clearing of throats, but we had some good talks. She was so thoughtful in her speech, as if she thought about each word that came out of her mouth before she said it, making sure that it made sense. The way she measured her words intrigued me as to who she really was before she had lost most of her core memory.

I stopped the car in the driveway and got out, pulling my bag along with me from the opposite seat. Oddly, there were no lights on in the house. The garden lights I had installed for Esme were not on either. Not even one of her scented candles flickered in the windows, which was even stranger.

I zipped up the steps of the long, wrap-around porch, opening the door. I could smell her scent all over, but could not hear a single breath of hers. I opened the front door and stepped over the threshold, flipping the switch to the lamp in the parlor.

She was sitting on the ivy green parlor couch, her legs folded up underneath her, her arms sullenly crossed. Her expression was completely unreadable, which was hard to interpret; she had always shown her expressions on her face. It was how I determined how she was. But now, this expression was frightening to me.

"Why is it so dark in here?" I asked, trying to sound cheerful, but her expression barely shifted, not a twitch of her set eyes. There was a certain coldness to them there. One that I had never felt boring into me until now.

"When where you planning on telling me." she said churlishly, narrowing her eyes the most minute bit.

I was literally confused. "What ever are you talking about?" I set my black bag on the parlor table that we sometimes played cards on. "Esme, what's going on?" suddenly feeling completely uncomfortable, I took a small step back. Not afraid of her. Afraid of what she had to say.

"When did you plan to tell me about Esme Evenson." She demanded, not in a loud voice, but her tone was awfully final. I froze.

"Esme, I –" I was lost for words, just stuck staring into her eyes. She was suddenly flattening me against the wall. Human blood still coursed through her veins – she was still much stronger than me. Much stronger than I had previously thought. "Esme…" I begged with everything I had into her name.

"You. Shoved. My. Life. Under. A. FLOORBOARD." She whispered against my face, and I could see her eyes prick as if she wanted to cry. She _was_ crying, as much as her body would allow. Her voice cracked. "You tried to destroy me."

"Esme, oh, no… I was only trying to protect you… I was –"

"You thought you could "reinvent" me, Carlisle. You thought you could make me forget who I am forever, to keep me for yourself!" she cried harder, holding me by the ironed collar of my rumpled shirt. "Is that what you wanted?"

"Esme, dear, no…" I wrapped my hands around her wrists that kept my neck against the wall. "I was protecting you…"

"From what? The truth?!" she exclaimed, though it was only in a whisper. "Carlisle, I don't know what kind of person you _think_ you are, but you sure aren't helping people!" she let go of me, letting me slump against the wall as everything fell apart.

"Let me explain…"

"No. You had your moment to explain the moment I woke from my transformation. You had your moment!" she held up her small hand as I tried to speak again, silencing me yet again. "But instead, you chose to hide it all away from me! You chose to box up my life like it meant nothing to you."

"I was planning to tell you when you were ready. An emotionally unstable vampire is the worst kind." I explained softly, but she was still dryly crying, her back turned from me.

"I'm done being pushed around." She spoke. "It is time I stood up for myself, Carlisle." She gulped before speaking again. "It is time I left your home."

I struggled, the words lapping at my tongue, though I could not seem to find them. "Esme… Edward… he loves you. You're very much like his mother."

"He survived without me." she bit her lip. "Tell him I love him. Tell him that I just had to go. Promise me you'll tell him."

I nodded. It was all I could do. "I promise."

"I'm sorry, Carlisle. I need to go. I need to go home." She placed her hands on either side of my face. "You are good, Carlisle. Just not good for me right now." She patted my cheek as if reassuring me. My heart ached. I couldn't possibly let her leave. But she had already nearly slipped between my fingers. But she was right. I should have told her before. I shouldn't have let her discover the documents herself. I should have done better. Then maybe she would stand beside me again.

"I'm going home." She spoke, and then she was gone. I pressed my back against the wall, burying my face in my hands, and cried.

Esme

I was a nomad. Traveling to one destination, but I was virtually a nomad. Carlisle had once told me about some of his nomad friends that travelled their country, living nowhere in particular. Oh, Carlisle. The look on his face when I said I was leaving. But I would have to leave him behind me. He was no longer part of my life.

I traveled by the woods, and when there were no woods to follow, I traveled at night on deserted country roads that were like graveyard shifts. Living off of my instincts was an entirely different thing for me, but there was always a herd of deer nearby, or at the least, a rabbit I could salvage. Living life alone was so much different as a vampire than it was as a human.

First of all, my emotions raged even more before that in my human life. My feelings were literally amplified ten times or more, and when I was happy, I felt like the sun shone right through my entire being, cascading like a mosaic out into the world. Though when sadness hit me, it felt like my soul had shattered into a million tiny pieces. Like my heart had been crumpled into a ball like a piece of paper, and tossed into a garbage can, useless.

Carlisle had kept Russell from me. My own _son._ The only family I had, besides God-awful Charles, whom I would have kept running from anyway. But I could remember the weight of him in my arms, the soft caress against his cheek when I spoke to him, stroking my fingers down his cheek. It was a blur, but I could just barely remember. And I could also remember the pain that I felt.

_I should be with him right now,_ my mind kept telling me. _I should have passed on. I don't belong here. _

Sometimes the feelings were overwhelming, and I had to stop traveling to redeem myself. The agony was so horrible that I even felt true pain in my chest, often having to hold my hand over where my heart was, or where it should be, just to contain myself. Could a vampire have a nervous breakdown?

But I kept going. Away from Carlisle, away from Edward. Oh, Edward. I had never met another like him. He was much like a teenager in a thirty-year-old's body. I missed him so. The long conversations we had in the garden, the talks we had with our eyes alone. We had a connection for sure; not a romantic one at all, but he was special to me, even in a short period of time. My heart ached for me, but not as much as I wanted to lay eyes on my home again.

Having a lot of time to think to myself as I traveled, I tried to think of what I would do when I got home. Would I talk to my parents? Could I? Were there actual rules to being a vampire? I imagined what it would be like when my sister and mother saw me. I would rather not go into that realm – they may be too shocked to see what my new self looked like.

Finally, I knew I was in Ohio again. Getting closer and closer, it would not be long before I was home again. Where I had grown up, and where I planned to continue my life. The house was just as I remembered leaving it when I was married to Charles – brushing my fingers across the grains of the porch made me feel as if I were twelve years old again. Without a care in the world, just being a child. I was happy. Then why, when I returned here, did I feel so empty? There was still the hole punched right through my heart.

I stepped over the threshold. The smell was exactly the same, but the sight was shocking. **(hello, readers. **** I just thought I should tell you that there is a song that goes with this next part that is coming up. It is called In the Next Life, by Gothic Storm. It just goes with the scene. Play it while you read **** thanks.)**

Windows. They were punched out and broken as if Elmer and I had hit a ball through the panes again. Leaves littered the floor like the place had been empty for years. The furniture was gone – as if the living room was a hallowed out shell. I did not want to see the rest – but I knew I also wanted to. Like a horrible accident, you felt like you needed to look, though all along you knew it was brutal and horrible.

I moved slowly, at human speed up the stairs. The cold air howled through the house by more broken windows, but I did not feel the cold. Instead, it seemed to go straight through me. Like I was an apparition that no longer belonged here. In this house. In this life.

The wooden floor was cracked and the finish was ruined by rain that must have come through the broken places in the windows. I walked slowly down the hallway, hoping to see a better sight, but all I found were more gutted out rooms. Suddenly, more memories that I hadn't dared try and think about entered my head. The dreams. With Dr. Cullen. Carlisle. The gutted out house that looked exactly like this. It was like déjà vu. Bad déjà vu. The kind that I didn't want.

I kneeled in the middle of the floor that used to be my room. the wind rattled the walls as I put my palms up as if pressing them against a wall of glass that wasn't there. It was empty. The room used to be filled with childhood things; dolls, chains of paper snowflakes, drawings. The things I was deemed too old for much too soon. They were gone. Ghosts of memories, just like everything else in my life now. They were the shells of memories.

Overwhelmed with it, I buried my head in my hands, feeling my hair fall over my face like a waterfall. My soul – if I had a soul – cracked, at that very moment. Sobbing, I spoke nonsense words into my hands. Words I remembered from my childhood, any words that came into my mind. I spoke them as I wept, shaking my entire body with sobs. This entire house was symbolic to my human life – an empty shell. I no longer existed in it. My mother and father had moved on from me, they were gone. Left. I did not know where they were, but they weren't here – where they always had been. I tried to remember their faces. What did they look like? They were slipping away from me.

_No… no, this isn't right. _My mind screamed at me. I was no longer meant to be a part of this life that Esme existed in. I wasn't even Esme anymore. Esme was dead, to all living. I was a new Esme, as if I had just been reborn.

A surge of emotion overtook my body, and I pressed my forehead to the floor, sobbing even harder, if possible. This wasn't my life anymore. I had no life. I had no idea where I belonged.

_I didn't belong here anymore. _


	11. Pirouette

_**Well… I am QUITE embarrassed for not updating in…well. A LONG time. I apologize and wouldn't be surprised if my viewers have left, ha! But… shamefully, here it is. Chapter ten. **_

Ten: Pirouette

Carlisle

I admitted to myself that I missed her so. So much that many feelings rushed around in my head like tiny atoms, seeking a place. They seemed to all tie into the holes in my heart. Many of the holes were left from past patients. The biggest one was left from her.

I tried desperately to stitch the hole. To focus on things like work, but I nearly always found myself wandering out to the garden, sitting and inhaling the scents of the flowers; and her scent that still seemed to linger. Sometimes I could sit for hours until Edward started to worry about my bewildered, depressed thoughts. I had only ever been depressed once; when I was first changed, I felt like I had become a monster and had wanted nothing more than to kill myself. Now, I wanted nothing more than to sit in this garden and think. Sometimes not even think at all. Just sit. Let the feeling of her presence engulf me.

"You're lovesick." Edward finally insisted when he got me inside. I had been sitting in the garden for about two weeks now, and he said that he had had enough of sitting in the house alone and watching me from the window. "I've never seen you like this before, but you sure are."

"No I'm not." I protested, pushing his hand away that had come to rest on my shoulder. "I'm just… stressed. From work."

Edward actually snorted. "Carlisle, stop being so persistent with love her."

"She was a good friend."

"Come on, you love her more than that."

I didn't answer, because I had no argument. I had never, in all of my years, felt this way about another being. I had loved before; I loved my father when I was a boy, though I had no mother to love. I loved Edward as my son. But there had never been a place in my heart for a companion. The dead, pointless muscle ached even more now; how could someone feel so much pain? I could no longer bear it.

After about another week, I had had enough. I swiped my coat off of the hall tree and pulled it on over my shirt, mostly for show, but I was too upset to notice that the cold would not bother me. As I reached for the door knob, Edward was suddenly in front of me.

"Carlisle…"

"I have to find her. Even if it's just to set things straight. I can't stand it anymore if I have to live knowing I could have apologized correctly."

Edward sighed, most likely with pity for me. "Carlisle, don't you remember? She _wanted_ to leave. It was on her own will. You can't just drag her back."

"I – I love her." I whispered, all I could manage. If Edward would have been a human, he probably wouldn't have been able to hear that. "I can't stand this any longer, Edward. I wish I could explain it to you…"

He was still for a moment. "If she loved you back, she would return on her own."

My chest ached in agony, because I knew that he was absolutely right. If she had the same feelings for me, she would return on her own. She definitely didn't want me running after her like a rogue child. Edward tried to put his hand on my shoulder, but I pulled away from him. "I'm going up to my room." I whispered, and with a whisper of wind and the blur of stairs, I was gone. Lying on my bed face down, I stared at the darkness of the pillow that closed out my world. I loved Edward, the boy I considered my son, and I loved my job. I loved that I helped people. But when was it time to help myself? Confusion blinded me to the core as I dry sobbed into the pillow.

A house can be where you live, but it isn't home without everyone that you love. An emptiness filled the house for the next two weeks. It was mostly quiet between Edward and I – we spoke when necessary, and when I came home and finished my work, I went up to my room to be alone. I often sat against the bed post, bringing my knees to my chest and resting my chin on my kneecaps with my head down. Thinking about what it might be like if I would have stopped her. I felt that she would never come back. The emptiness seemed to grow deeper day by day. I became more and more like I really was – the walking dead. I could put on a smile for Edward, but he could see right through me of course.

"Carlisle, this isn't healthy for you." Edward observed out loud finally. I looked up from my chart, letting the pen roll out of the palm of my hand and onto the floor. I let it stay there. "Carlisle… aren't you going to get that?"

"Oh… yes…" I said distantly, leaning over without looking to sweep it up back into my hand. Edward sighed, his shoulders hunching as he did.

"I know you wish she had stayed –"

"Edward, I'm fine. I must go to work now." I rose off the couch and gathered my things into my bag, walking at human speed out to the car. It was chilly, and bluish white frost covered the ground. It was close to winter now, and soon it would be snowing. Children would be playing in the snow, throwing snowballs, making forts. I usually enjoyed seeing the youth playing in the snow.

I shut the door quietly after pulling my leg in and started the automobile. It rumbled to life, a stirring in its engine as I drove to work. Going through the motions, as usual. "Hello, Dr. Cullen." The nurse sitting at the front desk smiled at me, and I smiled half-heartedly back. I tipped my hat for her then went to my office to organize my charts and things and wait for the busy day to start.

After about an hour, there was a crisp knock at the door. I lifted my head and called "Come in,", and one of my colleagues, Dr. Navine stepped halfway into the room. "Hello." I smiled at him.

"Carlisle, there are patients waiting for you." I looked at my watch. I had been in here past the start of my shift! I had been so preoccupied.

"I'm terribly sorry!" I exclaimed, jumping to my feet and pulling my coat on over my shirt and tie. I rushed to the main lobby and grabbed the first chart that was set out for me. I treated a man with pain in his legs, then a little girl with a sore throat. Patient after patient, the day seemed to drag on longer than usual. All I wanted now was to lie on my bed and be alone, but I pushed through four more patients.

"Here, one more for you, then you can go home." Dr. Navine grunted, obviously exhausted from the long day. Of course, I was alive as ever, and didn't have a need for sleep, but he had obviously had it. I smiled lightly, striding down the hall of curtains where the patients were to wait. If they needed a separate room because their problem was more severe, they would be given one, but the curtains sufficed as rooms until they could be seen.

"Dr. Cullen," one of the younger doctors caught me as I strode down the corridor. "I've been trying to catch you all day!"

"What is it, Eugene?" I smiled half-heartedly at her, the best simper I could offer.

"I was wondering if I could have the rest of the night off… my family, they're coming in from –"

I sighed lightly. "Eugene, you made a commitment to the rest of the doctors. If you don't keep a steady schedule, you'll never learn. If you don't keep up the practice, you'll –" I pulled back the curtain and stood in awe. Esme stood there, her expression changing as she saw me. She switched her weight from her left leg to her right, and blinked her eyes a few times. They were a dark, flaxen gold color.

"But Dr. Cullen, I –"

"Have the rest of the night off, Eugene." I said just to shut him up, stepping into the small area and pulling the curtain back. I heard him walk away, but I was too busy staring into her eyes. Esme stared back at me, her mouth slightly agape as she tried to find her words. "You… you came back." I whispered. She nodded as she looked down at her feet.

"I'm so very cowardly, Carlisle… I – I waited here for you all day. I refused any other doctor. I needed to see _you._"

"I thought you needed to leave." I said in another hushed tone, surprised as she wrapped her warm fingers around my wrists. They would be freezing to anyone else that touched them, but warm to me.

She was still looking down, but occasionally, her eyes darted up to mine. She pressed her head to my chest, and her body was wrought with weeping. "I feel so sick."

"What's wrong?" I tipped her face up, just happy to feel her skin against my fingers again.

"I – I – my fingers quiver, my chest aches, and I feel like I could never drink another single drop of blood… and all these things only happen when I think of _you!"_ she groaned hopelessly, hanging her head again.

"Esme, it's okay!" I hugged my arms around her, enveloping her in my protection as she wept. "You aren't ill… you're in love."

She grabbed my face and kissed me. The combination of her lips and the scent of her skin was so unimaginable that I didn't know how to kiss her back until it seemed like ten minutes had passed. My hands moved to her face, tucking my fingers behind her ears. The hair there was soft and like a newborn baby's hair, so I gently stroked with my fingers. Her arms quickly snaked around my neck as she pushed me against the wall, finally pulling away.

"We need to get out of here." I spoke quickly, though she silenced me just as fast with another deep kiss on the mouth. I pulled her to me, my arms now wrapping around her waist, holding her like I would never let her go. Her fingers pulled at my hair like she was pulling weeds, yet it felt so soft and inviting that I wanted her to keep doing it. Her lips tasted just like the scent of flowers, if they could even possibly have a scent, and as I kissed down her neck, I smelled that her skin smelled of coral roses and sweet wine. Her tongue danced in my mouth, fighting for dominance, as mine did to hers, and her arms tightened against my back.

"Dr. Cullen? Carlisle? Carlisle." I snapped up, realizing that Dr. Navine still held out the chart to me. How long had I been trapped in such a fantasy! It had never happened to me before, those images fighting for dominance. I took the chart and nodded to my colleague, tending to my last patient. All I could think about was her now. I couldn't turn it off. It seemed too hard to bear if I did. As I hung up my white lab coat in the cloakroom and walked slowly down the main lobby hallway, the front desk nurse stopped me.

"Dr. Cullen? Carlisle…" she corrected herself, her cheeks turning pink. I stopped and leaned on the desk half-heartedly. "It's a pleasure to see you."

"The pleasure is mine." I said half-heartedly, licking my lips. My palms were tingling at my reverie, though by now I would expect I could be able to control my feelings after hundreds of years. The tingling feeling traveled up my arms to the back of my neck where my hair pricked eerily for a moment. I rubbed the back of my neck quickly and remembered I was talking to the nurse. Her name was Charlotte, I think. My mind was still clouded; troubled by the emptiness. I had been contemplating on whether to destroy the middle of my mind just to stomp out the pain. The love, whatever it was. I wanted it to be over; maybe even go back to before I even met Esme… maybe then these thoughts would stop.

I turned to leave, but Charlotte called for me again. "Wait, Dr. Cullen!" I wheeled around, rubbing my forehead. "Um…" she twirled a lock of her blonde hair around her index finger. I just wanted to get to my car and slowly crawl my way home. "The hospital benefit is this weekend…"

I eyed the banner that was above the door; I failed to notice it earlier this week, but I did remember walking past to see two men hanging it. "Oh, yes it is." I nodded.

"Well… I haven't someone to go with, so… do you think you would like to go – with me?" her cheeks flushed pink, and I felt her temperature change. I smiled lightly at her. She was a nice woman, and like most of the other nurses, she was all over me; maybe going out would be good for me though.

"Yes. Shall I pick you up?"

She grinned, breathing a sigh of relief. She told me her address, which I knew I would remember flawlessly and told me to pick her up at seven. The ride home was silent, as always, and I couldn't help thinking about the daydream I found myself caught in earlier. Oh, if it had been real. It was torturous, why did my own mind feel the need to torture me so? It was like tying myself to the railroad tracks just in spite of what I have done. But I couldn't help how badly I wished that it wasn't just a dream. I felt like laying so still in the cold until the snow covered me like a landfill; without Esme, it seemed like I was crumbling. Like I was embedded in the frost. I didn't know how this was; I was perfectly fine without her before, when it was just Edward and I. Maybe when someone comes into your life and they leave footprints on you, they stay forever. Like tattoos of the past.

Edward was sitting on the couch when I entered through the front door, his feet propped up on the arm rest on the opposite side. "You're going to the hospital benefit?"

I nodded, hanging my coat that was dotted with sleet. "Yes."

"It's this Saturday, right?" he lifted his head, his hair tossled and messy. He ran his fingers backwards through it, only succeeding in messing it up more.

"Yes. If you'll excuse me, I've got a lot of work to do." I went slowly up to my room and did my charts, finishing earlier than I expected. I had the feeling Edward was getting annoyed with me. I didn't blame him, my thoughts were all over the place; here, there, everywhere. It was like going through a wringer. I couldn't even concentrate, which was strange. Usually I had immaculate concentration, but I felt foggy. I stacked the papers neatly on a stool and lay on my back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. The room temperature was cold, but it didn't bother me at all. In the morning, Edward paced by the open bedroom door.

"Wow… this is low for you." He observed. "I've never seen you like this."

I sat up. "Sorry."

He shrugged and shoved his hand in his pockets. "Come on, you know you're better than this. Want to go for a hunt?"

I smiled at Edward as he boosted me up, opening up the window. "Thank you, Edward."

"Let's get your mind set straight, yeah?" he patted my back once and leapt out the window. I followed after him, making the two story leap that felt like nothing more than one step down off of a stair. As soon as the balls of my feet absorbed the shock, I shot off after him; I would never be as fast as Edward, but I felt as if I needed to release some of this energy. It was energy I haven't felt since I was a newborn, and it was frightening that I could feel such a flutter in my chest, sudden burning in my throat, but I pushed it aside and raced after him.

It was amusing to watch Edward running. It was difficult to distinguish which was his left leg and which was his right as they blurred beneath him in a cyclone. He grinned and sped ahead of me as I pushed onward in the brown canopy of trees. The fall and near winter months had turned the leaves a brown color by now, and the air was nippy. It went straight through me of course, and I didn't feel a thing. I lost sight of Edward, but I was completely aware of his presence a few yards in front of me. I leapt over a large, dead tree that was draped between two others and landed in a cat-like crouch the moment my feet touched the ground again. This was my hunting mode, the most animalistic side to the vampire.

I caught a smell on the wind; not a good smell exactly. It smelled of musk and the forest, but also what I was looking for. I could hear the easy, soft thud of an elk's hooves on the wet forest floor, prominent and distinct. Edward was farther ahead than me, so I headed in the direction of the smell, hanging a quick left. I could feel Edward's presence a few hundred yards in the other direction, but I knew I wouldn't be straying far from him. Slowly, I slinked up a tree and silently ghosted to the forest floor. The elk never even saw me coming as I attacked, snapping its neck immediately to ease its suffering. Over the years, I had become a "neat eater" of the vampire world. I somehow remembered my first few years as a vampire as I was drinking, recalling how messy I was. Getting the thick red liquid all over. It reminded me of when Esme was a newborn.

"Thinking about her again," Edward emerged behind me, his collar the only thing that was slightly ruffled. "I see…"

"I'm sorry." I bashfully apologized, what else was I to say?

"I thought this would get your mind off of it all, but I suppose not. Some feelings are just too strong."

"Edward…" I muttered, almost too quietly for him to hear, but it was almost in a scolding manner. "Let's just hunt more."

We entered the woods even farther, hunting a few wildcats that resided in the area, even a few more elk until I felt so engorged that I could never drink another drop again. Of course, the appearance of my body didn't change, my stomach never looked distended. Nothing went to my stomach anymore, not for a _long_ time. The blood I drank went straight to my veins, as it did for all of my kind. Instead of going back to our home, Edward and I sat on a large, mossy log and stared out at the nighttime forest that was alive, bright and buzzing with verve. Snow still blanketed the frost-bitten ground, and the usual insect sound was void, but I could hear the soft pad of hooves against the crunchy snow, an occasional far-off owl hooting for its mate.

"I've never seen you drink so much," Edward half chuckled and leaned back, putting his hands behind his head. "I guess this is like binge drinking for you."

I had to chuckle a little, though it was hallow. "I feel as if I'll never feed again."

My companion smiled, the moon reflecting out of the clouds momentarily. Vampires do not sparkle in the moonlight like we do when we are in the direct path of the sun's rays, but our skin does look frighteningly white with the faint afterglow. "Carlisle, I miss her too."

I reached over and put my hand on his shoulder softly, shaking his torso a bit as a fathering gesture. "I know."

I found my tuxedo shoved in the back of my closet. I never really had much a need for it, and it smelled like moth balls from the previous owners of the house, but when I put it on I could feel that is could use some wear. I thought I only wore it a few other times over the years, and it might be a little out of style, but I thought an average suit might not be nice enough for the hospital benefit. I put it on with my newly shined pair of black dress shoes and tied my bow tie in the mirror I had first led Esme in front of to see her beautiful self. My golden eyes stared back at me as I fixed my hair, brushing it back, but I knew no matter what I did to it, Charlotte would find me dashing as all of the other nurses did.

Edward handed me a corsage at the door. "What's this for?" I raised an eyebrow.

"Your date." He snickered, "I knew you would forget."

"Thank you." I mused, opening the door to let the chilly air in. "Edward? Would you like to come?"

He flopped on the couch, hitting his head on the armrest with a cracking concrete noise. It didn't seem to bother him a bit. "No thanks. I'd rather stay here."

"Edward?"

"Yes?" he barely looked up from the book her had just opened. He was still a teenager at heart, barely listening to me.

"I really do appreciate you." I said genuinely, smiling at him. He smiled back without looking up.

"You don't have to tell me, Carlisle, I already know."

I closed the door gently and walked slowly out to the car, clearing a path in the fresh snow. It sure smelled like it would snow again tonight – it had been snowing for days, but it stopped for now, on this crisp night. I drove the car to Charlotte's house and picked her up. Being a single woman, she still lived with her parents, who approved of me fully, and her mother spent fifteen minutes fawning over me and telling me about her daughter, but I didn't mind. My mind wasn't focused on Charlotte or her family members. I opened her door for her on the passenger side, she was wearing a slender dress of rose color, but it wasn't anything too flashy or showy. Over it, she wore a fur shawl and her hair was done in the back to have tiny pin curls falling down the back of her neck. She was a beautiful human.

"Dr. Cullen," she blushed again, crossing her legs in the front seat of the car. She was wearing small heels that were pink to match the dress, with tiny artificial roses on the sides. "I apologize for my parents. They're just bothered that I'm not yet married."

"Don't worry, Miss Charlotte," I smiled while focusing on the road even though I barely needed to. I may have been entirely turned to the back seat and could have kept the car on track perfectly. "I'm sure you'll find the perfect man for you in your own time. Don't let them rush you."

Her face turned red, though I didn't need to read minds to know that she was hoping that I was the perfect man for her. Parking the car, I opened her door for her and she took my arm a little too tightly as I led her indoors. There was a grand band playing, violins and cellos rumbling to the beat of the dancers. There was a refreshment table, a large bowl of punch red as roses, and small platters of desserts and finger foods. None of which looked at all appetizing to me. A large banner hung above the dance floor of the ballroom, and after I had paid for our admission and descended down the broad stair case of six long steps, I met many smells. Large groups use to frighten me, question my control, but these days it was just like a game. Everyone smelled of must, new ruffled taffeta and lace, the squeak of rubber on the floor. Women smelled like a clash of perfume, much like Charlotte did, and the men smelled of cologne, aftershave, and sweat. I even caught a few whiffs of fruit punch as I led my date out onto the floor.

"I'll get you some punch." I offered, and she was quite diffident at my manners. I bought her a cup of the red, staining punch from one of the volunteers. Charlotte thanked me, and I waited patiently while she drank in tiny, dainty sips and chatted with friends, at her side obediently. I wasn't quite awkward with women, but I was coy at the least. I chimed in when appropriate, and chatted as needed, but I was never a ladies man. Soon, being an average human being, she grew tired of the people we talked to and I asked her to dance. She was delighted.

"Dr. Cullen… may I call you Carlisle?" I felt her heartbeat flutter as I took her waist and she pressed her palm to the shoulder of my tuxedo. It turned out that I wasn't the only one wearing one tonight, because my coworker Dr. Navine wore one as well.

"Of course." I swayed to the soft tune of the band's violins, plucking at the strings. A harp player playfully struck the strings with ease, gliding his fingers over the threads to create a soft rhythm.

"Alright. Carlisle… I am delighted that we get to share this night together."

"As am I. You are a wonderful lady." I smiled, though it wasn't very genuine. I still felt so empty. "I'm sorry I haven't made much conversation with you in the office. I haven't much time for friends."

She looked disappointed. "Oh… I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It is a very busy lifestyle… but I love every –" I was suddenly silent as a magnificent scent drifted over the crowd of dancers that were holding each other at arm's length, some even closer and seeming to hug as they swayed. A peculiar smell, of lemon trees, glittery textile and a beguiling scent of flowers that was overpowering and at the same time a slightly seductive scent of cinnamon and flowers. "Minute of it." I finished slowly. No, it can't be. It simply can't, I'm smelling things, I told myself. But at the same time, there was no possible way for a human to have a smell like that! No, I knew that smell _well._ It was my favorite smell in the entire world. There was nothing else like it. _Nothing._ But I remembered the vivid daydream I had on call at the hospital the other day. I had my doubts.

"Is there something wrong, Carlisle?" Charlotte placed her hand on my cheek, much to the dismay of a woman dancing with a rather average man I recognized as one of the clinic's usual nurses.

"No, nothing's wrong. I'm sorry." I apologized, guiding her hand back down to my shoulder. I didn't have a problem being friends with the woman, but I had to relay to her that I had no interest in an intimate relationship with her.

There was the swish of hair over fabric, and I heard the slight resounding click of heels on concrete outside. A chaise door closed, but it was too far away for me to hear the voices other than a muffle. There were too many voices inside the building. _Click, click, click,_ went the heels as they approached the building, and my mind matched the gait to the one I knew oh so well. No, it couldn't be. It _isn't_, I promised myself in my head more than once.

The large doors to the parlor opened, and tiny pearl-colored shoes stepped onto the marble staircase that spilled out onto the large, broad stairs. The purple dress swayed at her ankles, and as my eyes moved up to her slender legs and slightly curved waist, and her torso was perfectly sculpted as if by a god out of marble. Her skin was pale, and her insipid, perfect arms were clothed in shimmery whitish-silver gloves that covered her long, slender fingers. My eyes fell on her face, the slightly heart-shaped lips and the dimples that seemed permanently on her cheeks, and her caramel hair was half done up in the back with shimmering pins I could see from where I was standing with Charlotte in my arms. I closed my eyes and violently blinked like a maniac, trying to dissipate the mirage, but she still stood there at the top of the marble stairs.

"Carlisle. Carlisle?" Charlotte shook my shoulder, but my body was metal, staying a statue as she tried to move me. "What are you looking at? Carlisle! Dr. Cullen! Are you alright?"

I pressed my palm to her shoulder and tried to blink again, but I was not able to. "Charlotte. May I leave you? For just a moment? Please." I moved a curl aside from her face. "I must go meet someone."

"Who? You're acting quite strangely, would you like something to drink?"

"I'm sorry, Charlotte. I'm fine." I promised, letting go of her waist and weaving through the dancers on the dance floor. It seemed like I could not get to the staircase a moment sooner. It was all I could do to go at human speed, rushing to the top of the six stairs, violently throwing myself into her arms. She was hard, and the fabric of her willowy, midnight purple dress pressed against my fingers as she wrapped her arms around me. "Oh, God. Esme." I whispered in a voice only for her. I felt her silky gloved fingers cup my face, and she tugs me a few feet out of view of the dance floor. "Esme…"

"Shhh, sweet, _sweet_ Carlisle." She soothed, ruffling her fingers in my hair. The long gloves reached her elbows, an elegant type that aren't worn enough by women these days. Her hair had the shimmery pins I noticed only moments earlier, and a beautiful comb with light amethyst jewels embedded in the surface, along with tiny pearls. Her hand touching mine sent zings through my frozen body, and her soft lips formed the words. "Your tux is dashing."

I couldn't help scooping her up in a hug, literally lifting her up off the ground. She wrapped her arms around my back softly, her nails gripping the jacket of my tuxedo. "Why are you here? I mean – oh, I – I missed you, Esme." I moaned, inhaling her smell that I had not been incorrect about. I would know it anywhere.

"I missed you." She mimicked in a mere whisper, her hair brushing against my cheek. "I've been… not spying, that sounds horrible of me, goodness. Alright, I knew about the hospital benefit, I learned of it when I was coming to – see you and Edward. I couldn't – I just… anyway, look at me, I can't even speak." She smoothed down the purple of her dress, as if there was possibly a flaw in the perfect middle of her body. "I wanted to see you, but I was so bashful. I thought I might be able to find you here. In fact, I knew."

"I'm in shock. You're the only person who has ever put me in shock, Esme." I nodded, and she would have blushed had she not been a vampire. "Where did you get all of this? This dress, the shoes, the jewelry…"

"It's a long story. Just come here and kiss me, you fool!" she cried, grabbing me by the collar. She wasn't exactly a newborn anymore, but she was still younger than me, which in turn meant she was still much stronger. My hands pressed suddenly to her cheeks, soft and flawlessly smooth without a break of blemish, pressing my lips to hers as fast as I could. No matter how hard my mind tried to trick me into thinking I didn't want this, it was what I had been craving all along. Her lips moved quickly under mine as she closed them on top of my bottom lip, the softness suddenly engulfing my body as she wrapped her arms around my neck. My hands engulfed her cheeks, and with a soft smacking noise she let go although I would never be ready for that.

"Better?" I whispered.

"Better." She kissed me with a hunger I her I recognized from the hunt. Letting go again, she wrapped her gloved arm around mine. "Shall we dance? After all, this is a ball, isn't it?"

_**Well… I would just like to apologize for the LONG wait again, for all you viewers. I really appreciate you. Thanks, and please review!**_


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